Come on Jim an' help
me hive 'em. Won't take but a minit." Jim began to roll up his sleeves.
"Oh," protested the old man, "I don't want you to preach to 'em. Ma'm,"
he continued, addressing Mrs. Mayfield, "he always goes at 'em with his
sleeves rolled up, and, I gad, he fetches 'em."
Jim strove to explain to Mrs. Mayfield, but Jasper pulled at him.
"That's all right, Jim, she understands. Come on, or them bees might fly
away. Come on, I tell you. Ma'm take yo' eye offen him so he kin come
on. Thar, I thank you," he said, bowing, when Mrs. Mayfield looked in
another direction. "Thankee, ma'm an' ef I had a eye as fetchin' as
your'n I could haul wood with it. Come on, Jim." He drew the preacher
out of the house, and Margaret said to Mrs. Mayfield: "Don't let Jasper
fret you, ma'm."
"Oh, no, Mrs. Starbuck, to me he is an old time story book,
illustrated."
"My father fret anybody?" cried Lou. "How could he?"
"Why don't you say I couldn't fret anybody," Tom broke in, and looking
sweetly at him she innocently inquired, "Could you?"
At the corner of the fence Jasper and Jim halted.
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