"Stop," yelled Jehosophat, "that isn't it at all."

"'Tis, too," shouted Fatty and the others together, and they repeated
in one breath, as fast as they could:

"'Sfathercalled andewouldn'tgo
Causeeloved 'ispeanutsso."

Yes, every time Jehosophat tried to tell them what it _really_
was, they kept shouting in singsong voices, faster and faster:

"Fathercalled 'ewoodengo
Causeeloved 'ispeanutsso."

And every once in a while that little imp Lizzie Fizzletree would make
outrageous bows, almost down to the ground, in imitation of
Jehosophat.

Next day was _the_ day, the _great_ day. And all the boys
came dressed in new suits, or suits made over from Father's old
trousers, with stiff collars, and ties of red, or blue, or brown; and
the girls had pretty white dresses with sashes sticking out like
butterflies' wings.

Jehosophat thought they did resemble butterflies until he looked down
at their feet; and then very crossly he decided that those feet
spoiled "the _effect_." You see, he was getting to use and to
think in big words now.

But while he was looking at the regiment of feet, along came Mr.