disconcerted line between
her eye-brows was so marked as almost to throw her face out of drawing.
Troubled about many things, evidently, was Meddlesome. She could not
even delegate the opening of a basket that her little brother had
brought and placed beside the camp-fire.

"Don't, Gran'dad," she exclaimed suddenly, stepping alertly
forward--"_don't_ put that loaf in that thar bread-box; the box 'pears
ter be damp. Leave the loaf in the big basket till ter-morrer. It'll
eat shorter then, bein' fraish-baked. They kin hev these biscuits fer
supper,"--dropping on one knee and setting forth on the cloth, from the
basket on her arm, some thick soggy-looking lumps of dough,--"I baked
some dodgers, too--four, six, eight, ten,"--she was counting a dozen
golden-brown cates of delectable aspect--"knowin' they would hone fer
cornmeal arter huntin', an' nuthin' else nohow air fitten ter eat with
feesh or aigs. Hev you-uns got any aigs!" She sprang up, and, standing
on agile tiptoe, peered without ceremony into their wagon. Instantly
she recoiled with a cry of horrified reproach. "Thar 's ants in yer
short-sweetenin'! How _could_ you-uns let sechez that happen!"

"Oh, surely not," exclaimed Purcell, hastening to her side. But the fact
could not be gainsaid; the neglected sugar was spoiled.

Meddlesome's unwarranted intrusion into the arcana of their domestic
concerns disclosed other shortcomings. "Why n't ye keep the top on yer
coffee-can? Don't ye know the coffee will lose heart, settin' open?" She
repaired this oversight with a deft touch, and then proceeded: "We-uns
ain't got no short-sweetenin' at our house, but I'll send my leetle
brother ter fetch some long-sweetenin' fer yer coffee ter night. Hyar,
Sol,"--addressing the small, limber, tow-headed, barefooted boy, a
ludicrous miniature of a man in long, loose, brown-jeans trousers
supported by a single suspender over an unbleached cotton shirt,--"run
ter the house an' fetch the sorghum-jug."

As Sol started off with the alertness of a scurrying rabbit, she shrilly
called out in a frenzy of warning: "Go the other way, Sol--up through
the pawpaws! Them cherty rocks will cut yer feet like a knife."

Sol had nerves of his own. Her sharp cry had caused him to spring
precipitately backward, frightened, but uncomprehending his danger.
Being unhurt, he was resentful' "They ain't none o' _yer_ feet, nohow,"
he grumbled, making a fresh start at less speed.

"Oh, yes, Sol," said the