cried Bab, bobbing up and down on the blue bench to imitate the motion
of white Jenny.

"I guess you are a plucky sort of a girl," and Ben gave her an approving
look as he went by, taking care to slop a little water on Mrs. Puss, who
stood curling her whiskers and humping up her back at Sancho.

"Come to breakfast!" called Mrs. Moss; and for about twenty minutes
little was said, as mush and milk vanished in a way that would have
astonished even Jack the Giant-killer with his leather bag.

"Now, girls, fly round and get your chores done up; Ben, you go chop me
some kindlings; and I'll make things tidy. Then we can all start off at
once," said Mrs. Moss, as the last mouthful vanished, and Sancho licked
his lips over the savory scraps that fell to his share.

Ben fell to chopping so vigorously that chips flew wildly all about the
shed; Bab rattled the cups into her dish-pan with dangerous haste, and
Betty raised a cloud of dust "sweeping-up;" while mother seemed to be
everywhere at once. Even Sanch, feeling that his fate was at stake,
endeavored to help in his own somewhat erratic way, -- now frisking
about Ben at the risk of getting his tail chopped off, then trotting
away to poke his inquisitive nose into every closet and room whither he
followed Mrs. Moss in her "flying round" evolutions; next dragging off
the mat so Betty could brush the door-steps, or inspecting Bab's
dish-washing by standing on his hind-legs to survey the table with a
critical air. When they drove him out he was not the least offended, but
gayly barked Puss up a tree, chased all the hens over the fence, and
carefully interred an old shoe in the garden, where the remains of the
mutton-bone were already buried.