had been dressing the prairie chickens
behind the house, came round and saw his pompous papa sitting under an
oak-tree, astride the "shave-horse," filing away at the saw held in its
clumsy jaws, and Wad turning the grindstone close by, while Rufe held on
the axe, he ran into the house laughing.

"Mother! just look out there! Father and Rufe and Wad all at work at
once! Guess the world's coming to an end!"

"I hope some of our troubles are coming to an end," sighed poor Mrs.
Betterson, who sat nursing her babe with a bottle. "It's all owing to
_her_. A new broom sweeps clean. She brings a very good influence; but I
can't hope it will last."

"O mother!" said Cecie, from her lounge, "don't say that. I am sure it
will last; she is so good! You'll do all you can for her, won't you,
Link?"

"I bet!" was Link's laconic response. "If _they_ only will, too, for
there ain't much fun in doing chores while father and Rufe and Wad are
just loafing round."

He hastened to Vinnie with his chickens.

"Just look out there once! All at it! Ain't it fun?"

It was fun to Vinnie, indeed.

CHAPTER XIX.

LINK'S WOOD-PILE.

The dinner, though late that day, was unusually sumptuous, and Betterson
and his boys brought to it keen appetites from their work. Vinnie's
cooking received merited praise, and the most cordial good-will
prevailed. Even little Chokie, soiling face and fingers with a
"drum-stick" he was gnawing, lisped out his commendation of the repast.

"I wish Aunt Vinnie would be here forever, and div us dood victuals."

"I second the motion!" cried Link, sucking a "wish-bone," and then
setting it astride his nose,--"to dry," as he said.

"One would think we never had anything fit to eat before," said Mrs.
Betterson; while my lord looked flushed and frowning over his frayed
stock.

"You know, mother," said Lill, "I never could cook prairie chickens. And
you haven't been well enough to, since the boys began to shoot them."

"Lincoln," said Mrs. Betterson, "remove that unsightly object from your
nose! Have you forgotten your manners?"

"He never had any!" exclaimed Rufe, snatching the wish-bone from its
perch.

"Here! give that back! I'm going to keep it, and wish with Cecie bimeby,
and we're both going to wish that Aunt Vinnie had come here a year
ago--that is--I mean--pshaw!" said Link, whose ideas were getting rather
mixed.

Poor Mrs. Betterson complained a great deal to her sister that afternoon
of th