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Updated: May 23, 2025
It's not often I sleep past my dinner time." "I've kep' it for you," said Mrs. Peter. "There's some baked 'taters hot in the pan, and maybe the little master and missy'd like one of their eggs." "I'm sure they would," said Tim; "a hegg and a baked 'tater's a dinner for a king. And there's the oranges for a finish up." And he skipped back merrily to announce the good news.
That is the tramp-boy yondaire. He is in the woods above the gulch there. He will have emerge' to the road presently. The yong scamp is musical, sair!" "Aye, hear that!" cried Steering appreciatively, "gloriously musical!" Out of the great green timber mounted the tenor notes, piercingly sweet, pure, true, like a bird-call: "A tater's good 'ith 'lasses." Bernique's horse was growing restless.
In his ears rang the sound of Carington's voice: "Why don't you try Missouri, Miss Gossamer sails, Why don't you try Missouri, Miss Gossamer sails " a faint, recedent measure, and intermingling with it the sound of a boy's voice singing gaily on the misty hills: "A tater's good 'ith 'lasses." Steering leaned far out of the window, eager for the lad's music. It was so sweet.
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