"Ye air powerful perlite ter come a-steppin' home jes' at supper-
time," said his mother advancing to meet him. "Ye lef' no wood
hyar, an' ye said ye would borry the mule, an' come home early a-
purpose to haul some. An' me hyar with nuthin' to cook supper with
but sech chips an' blocks an' bresh ez I could pick up off'n the
groun'."

Birt's troubles had crowded out the recollection of this domestic
duty.

"I clean furgot," he admitted, penitently. Then he asked suddenly,
"An' whar war Rufe, an' Pete, an' Joe, ez YE hed ter go ter pickin'
up of chips an' sech off'n the groun'?"

He turned toward the group of small boys. "Air you-uns all disabled
somehows, ez ye can't pick up chips an' bresh an' sech?" he said.
"An' ef ye air, whyn't ye go ter the tanyard arter me?"

"They war all off in the woods, a-lookin' arter Rufe's trap ez ye
sot fur squir'ls," Mrs. Dicey explained. "It hed one in it, an' I
cooked it fur supper."

Birt said that he could go out early with his axe and cut enough
wood for breakfast tomorrow, and then he fell silent. Once or twice
his preoccupied demeanor called forth comment.

"Whyn't ye eat some o' the squir'l, Birt?" his mother asked at the
supper table. "Pears-like ter me ez it air cooked toler'ble tasty."