'em, for the boys would never think to take 'em off when
they got inside, for they never do--but anyhow, there ain't enough good
ones. Now, look me in the eye. You're only goin' jest round the corner;
you needn't wear no hats, none of yer, 'n' when yer get int' the parlor,
'n' they ask yer ter lay off yer hats, Sarah Maud must speak up 'n' say
it was sech a pleasant evenin' 'n' sech a short walk that yer left yer
hats to home. Now, can yer remember?"

All the little Ruggleses shouted, "Yes, marm!" in chorus.

"What have _you_ got ter do with it?" demanded their mother; "did I
tell _you_ to say it? Warn't I talkin' ter Sarah Maud?"

The little Ruggleses hung their diminished heads. "Yes, marm," they
piped, more discreetly.

"Now we won't leave nothin' to chance; git up, all of ye, an' try
it.--Speak up, Sarah Maud."

Sarah Maud's tongue clove to the roof of her mouth.

"Quick!"

"Ma thought--it was--sech a pleasant hat that we'd--we'd better leave
our short walk to home," recited Sarah Maud, in an agony of mental
effort.

This was too much for the boys. An earthquake of suppressed giggles
swept all along the line.

"Oh, whatever shall I do with yer?" moaned the unhappy mother; "I s'pose
I've got to learn it to yer!"--which she did, word for word, until Sarah
Maud thought she could stand on her head and say it backwards.

"Now, Cornelius, what are _you_ goin' ter say ter make yerself good
comp'ny?"

"Do? Me? Dunno!" said Cornelius, turning pale, with unexpected
responsibility.

"Well, ye ain't goin' to set there like a bump on a log 'thout sayin' a
word ter pay for yer vittles, air ye? Ask Mis' Bird how she's feelin'
this evenin', or if Mr. Bird's hevin' a busy season, or how this kind
o' weather agrees with him, or somethin' like that.--Now we'll make
b'lieve we've got ter the dinner--that won't be so hard, 'cause yer'll
have somethin' to do--it's awful bothersome to stan' round an' act
stylish.--If they have napkins, Sarah Maud down to Peory may put 'em in
their laps, 'n' the rest of ye can tuck 'em in yer necks. Don't eat with
yer fingers--don't grab no vittles off one 'nother's plates; don't reach
out for nothin', but wait till yer asked, 'n' if you never _git_ asked
don't git up and grab it.--Don't spill nothin' on the tablecloth, or
like's not Mis' Bird'll send yer away from the table--'n' I hope she
will if yer do! (Susan! keep your handkerchief in your lap where Peory
can borry it if she needs it,