"Why, 'Lias Hoover, I'm ashamed of you not to want Doctor Tom to fix
his foot, and thank you, too! Didn't Bud Pike tell you last night
how he cut his little brother's mouth and didn't hurt him a bit,
neither? Bud is going to get him to fix his next stubbed toe
hisself. Bud ain't no bigger boy than you, but he knows a good
doctor same as Mis' Mayberry and me does when he sees one." There
are ways and ways of controverting masculine obstinancy, and
evidently life had taught Mrs. Pratt the efficacy of beguilement.
Without more reluctance 'Lias disappeared around the house in the
direction of the office wing.

"I'm mighty glad you come along this morning, Bettie," said Mother
Mayberry, as she threaded a new needle with a long thread. Little
Bettie had seated herself on the floor and begun operations with the
spool and a piece of string that vastly amused little Hoover, whom
Mrs. Pratt deposited opposite her within reach of her own balancing
foot, for the baby's age and backbone were both at a tender period.
"I've got a kinder worry on my mind that I'd like to get a little
help from you as to know what to do about. Have you noticed that
both the Deacon and Mis' Bostick look mighty peaky? Course Deacon
have been sick, and she have had a spell of nursing, but they don't
neither of them pick up like they oughter. Mis' Bostick puts me in
mind of a little, withered-up, gray seed pod when all the down have
blowed away, and the Deacon's britches fair flap around his poor
thin shanks. Something or other just makes me sense what is the
matter."

"And me, too, Mis' Mayberry. I've been a-feeling of it for some
time, since we all quit out with the nursing and taking 'em