"That seems to be a failing with the Providence young--with
Providence people," ventured Miss Wingate with ambiguity.

"Oh, country boys is all alike," answered Mother comfortingly, only
in a measure taking in the tentative observation. "They're all
kinder co'ting tongue-tied. They have to be eased along attentive,
all 'cept Buck Peavey, who'd like to eat Pattie up same as a
cannibal, I'm thinking, and don't mind who knows it. Now the supper
is all on the simmer and can be got ready in no time. Let's me and
you walk down to the front gate and watch for Tom to come around the
Nob from Flat Rock and then we can run in the biscuits. Maybe we'll
hear some news; I haven't hardly seen any folks to-day and I
mistrust some mischief are a-brewing somewhere."

And Mother Mayberry's well trained intuitions must have been in
unusually good working order, for she met her expected complications
at the very front gate. She was just turning to point out a promise
of an unusually large crop of snowballs on the old shrub by the
gate-post when a subdued sniffling made itself heard and caused her
to concentrate her attention on the house opposite across the Road.
And a sympathy stirring scene met her eyes. Perched along the fence
were all five of the little Pikes clinging to the top board in
forlorn despondency. On the edge of the porch sat Mr. Pike in his
shirt sleeves with his pipe in one hand and the Teether Pike
balanced on his knee. His expression matched that of the children in
the matter of gloom, and like them he glanced apprehensively toward
the door as if expecting Calamity to issue from his very
hearthstone.