novelty.

"I would like to get lost in the woods," she observed, "and have
everybody out hunting me while I had to eat berries and roots. I
don't believe I'd like roots, though: they look so big and tough. And
I wouldn't touch a persimmon! Nor Injun turnip. You's a bad boy that
time you give me Injun turnip to eat, Bobaday Padgett!"

She turned upon her nephew, fierce with the recollection, and he
laughed, saying he wished he'd some to fool somebody with now.

"It bit my mouth so a whole crock of milk wouldn't help it, and if
brother Tip'd been home, Ma Padgett wouldn't let you off so easy."

"You wanted to taste it," said Robert. "And you'd eat the green
persimmons if they'd puckered your mouth clear shut."

"I wanted to see what the things that the little pig that lived in
the stone house filled his churn with, tasted like," admitted aunt
Corinne lucidly; so she subsided.

"Do you see the wagon, children?" inquired Grandma Padgett, who felt
the necessity of following Zene's lead closely. She stopped Old
Hickory and Old Henry at cross-roads.

"No; but he said turn west on the first road we came to," counseled
Bobaday.

"And this is the first, I counted," said aunt Corinne.