dirt. I was going to the barn with the pail of water for
Uncle Wesley to use in milking. I had to set down the pail to shut the
gate so the chickens wouldn't get into the flower beds, and old Snap
stuck his dirty nose into the water and began to lap it down. I knew
Uncle Wesley wouldn't use that, so I had to go 'way back to the cistern
for more, and it pumps awful hard. Made me mad, so I threw the water on
Snap."

"Well, what of it?"

"Nothing, if he'd stood still. But it scared him awful, and when he's
afraid he goes a-humping for Aunt Margaret. When he got right up against
her he stiffened out and gave a big shake. You oughter seen the nice
blue dress she had put on to go to Onabasha!"

Mrs. Comstock and Philip laughed, but Elnora put her arms around the
boy. "Oh Billy!" she cried. "That was too bad!"

"She got up early and ironed that dress to wear because it was cool.
Then, when it was all dirty, she wouldn't go, and she wanted to real
bad." Billy wiped his eyes. "That ain't all, either," he added.

"We'd like to know about it, Billy," suggested Mrs. Comstock, struggling
with her face.

"Cos she couldn't go to the city, she's most worked herself to death.
She's done all the dirty, hard jobs she could find. She's fixing her
grape juice now."

"Sure!" cried Mrs. Comstock. "When a woman is disappointed she always
works like a dog to gain sympathy!"

"Well, Uncle Wesley and I are sympathizing all we know how, without her
working so. I've squeezed until I almost busted to get the juice out
from the seeds and skins. That's the hard part. Now, she has to strain
it through white flannel and seal it in bottles, and it's good for sick
folks. Most wish I'd get sick myself, so I could have a glass. It's so
good!"

Elnora glanced swiftly at her mother.

"I worked so hard," continued Billy, "that she said if I would throw
the leavings in the woods, then I could come after you to see about the
bugs. Do you want to go?"

"We will all go," said Mrs. Comstock. "I am mightily interested in those
bugs myself."

From afar commotion could be seen at the Sinton home. Wesley and
Margaret were running around wildly and peculiar sounds filled the air.

"What's the trouble?" asked Philip, hurrying to Wesley.

"Cholera!" groaned Sinton. "My hogs are dying like flies."

Margaret was softly crying. "Wesley, can't I fix something hot? Can't we
do anything? It means several hundred dollars and our winter meat."

"I never saw s