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My pa thinks so, and that ain't all, the States Attorney thinks so too, doesn't he, Skeeters?" Of course I had to say yes, though I'd never heard my pa say any such thing. George left us and went about his buckets, and we went on diggin'. We saw George walk away and climb the rail fence and disappear.
And we'd go out to your grandmother's and stay all summer and just roll in pie and cake and good things and ride horses, and fly kites. My I just can't wait!" So Mitch went on this way for quite a spell and then he switched and said: "Skeeters, what do you dream about?" "Flyin'," says I. "No!" said Mitch. "Do you really?" "As sure as you're livin'," I says.
"I saw little Lucy Rose," piped the child, "and she looked at me real pleasant, and Lily Jennings wore a pretty dress. Would they play with me, uncle?" "Of course they would. You don't feel quite so hot, here, do you?" "I wasn't so hot, anyway; I was afeard of bats." "There ain't any bats here." "And skeeters." "Uncle don't believe there's any skeeters, neither."
"Yes, but," I said, "your girl ain't the daughter of the County Judge like Becky Thatcher was. And her name is Zueline and that sounds like something beautiful not belonging to any town but to some place I keep dreaming about." "Skeeters," said Mitch, "you make me mad sometimes. As I told you, it can't be all alike.
"How are you living?" she asked Grandma Clay as she complacently shook hands. "Nice cool weather now and not so many beastly mosquitoes." "By Jove! Did you know about the 'skeeters' here?" inquired Andrew of me. "They're big enough to ride bikes and weigh a pound. You wait till you hear 'em singing Sankey's hymns to-night."
"Bring a light." The Zanzibar boy complied, and, holding a taper above his head, looked not for mosquitoes, but at the rifles in the corner. "The skeeters, master," he muttered, with an evil squint at Compton, who was blinking at the light. "Better get back into your hammock, Venning. You can go, boy; and keep a good watch, for we are coming to the thieves' hour."
I never see worse place for skeeters!" Gale fell silent, and "No Creek" Lee began to swear in little, useless, ineffective oaths, which were but two ways of showing similar emotions. Then the former stepped up and laid a big hand upon Poleon's shoulder. "That saves us quite a trip," he said, but "No Creek" Lee continued to swear softly.
"There are 'skeeters roun' this place. One of 'em bit me an old he one. Jiminy!" "Did he?" asked her father, smiling as he came back with the hat. "Well, honey, there are much worse things in this world than those little fellows and if you don't complain any more than that you're going to be a very happy lady when you grow up." "Like Mamma?" asked the little tot, with a thoughtful face.
While Prudy was in Indiana visiting the Cliffords, and in the midst of her trials with mosquitoes, she said one day, "I wouldn't cry, Aunt 'Ria, only my heart's breaking. The very next person that ever dies, I wish they'd ask God to please stop sending these awful skeeters. I can't bear 'em any longer, now, certainly." There was a look of utter despair on Prudy's disfigured face.
"Cricket, you did more than your share, I think, if you copied all that, and wrote a story and a poem beside." "I had them all thought before, auntie. I made up the poetry the day I was caught on the mud-flat. I love to think out stories." "Oh-h!" groaned Edna. "How any one can think out stories just for fun, I don't see. I'd almost rather fight skeeters.
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