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Next she proceeded to gather her eyebrows into the smallest possible compass, and then she drew a deep breath, folded her small hands, and started off at a terrific pace, "Gaw bess parver yan muvver yan nannie yan hughyan betty yan dicky an aunt woggles yan ellen yan emma yan croft yan blusby yan all ve vitty children yan make dem velly good boys yan make my nastyole bunnyagoodgirl.
There would be little conversation, for Maria would sing with a lark's voice, as she worked, some of the sweet old hymns, chording with Amanda, busy in another part of the house. Shorty did not want to talk. It was enough for him to feast his eyes and ears. They were sitting down to supper one evening when little Sammy Woggles came in from the station.
Perhaps he saw I looked disappointed, for he added magnanimously, "I like trains next best, Aunt Woggles; only you see I didn't exactly pray for a train, that's why. What's Betty's?" "Betty must open it herself." "Don't you suppose," he said, "that she would like me to open it for her, because it is a hard thing opening parcels and Betty says I may always open all her parcels when she is out."
Now Grandad Woggles had that warnin' as much as three days afore the angel clim' the fence and flopped about his house. But don't keep breakin' in on me, little missy, 'cause I cain't finish if ye do, and I'se jest reachin' the thrillin' part." "Oh, then hurry," urged Jinnie.
That afternoon the express from Chattanooga carried a gun to Sammy Woggles, the contemplation of which deprived that youth of sleep the night after he received it, and won him the cordial hatred of every boy in his neighborhood for his overweening pride.
But Maria there everything turned to gall, and he hated the very name of Bad Ax, the whole State of Wisconsin and everybody in it. He would never dare go back into the house and face the family. What could he do? There was only one thing get back to his own home, the army, as soon as possible. Little Sammy Woggles came out presently to get some wood. Shorty called him to him.
It was voices, spirit voices, voices of the dead, of those who had gone down into the small cemetery beyond the road. Only the day before Matty had told her how, one night, a tall, wandering white thing had walked in silence across the fields to Jonathan Woggles' house. In the story, Jonathan's grandpa was about to pass away.
"Oaks or pines, the spirits live in 'em jest the same." "I 'spose so," agreed Virginia. "Go on!" "An' round and round he went, meltin' the snow with his hot feet," mused Matty, sniffing the air. "And in the house Betty Woggles set beside the old man, holdin' his hand, askin' him to promise he wouldn't die.... Hum!
Jane didn't know she only knew they did. Then I opened the door and called. Suddenly I heard a noise unearthly in its shrillness: it was Hugh calling his Aunt Woggles. He threw himself into my arms, keeping one eye, I could not help noticing, on the parcels.
"Is it for my very own?" she whispered. "Absolutely for your very own, Betty," I answered. "Oh!" said Betty. "Hugh, it's all for my very, very own; Aunt Woggles says so; but you may play with it when you are very good." This in Hugh's eyes seemed so remote a contingency as to be scarcely worth consideration.
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