Henderson's face.
"Sit down, dear; we do not leave the table in that way."
So Rachel slipped into her seat, feeling as if all the blood in her body
were in her hot cheeks.
"Now, what is it?" The parson's wife took one of the brown hands working
nervously under the tablecloth. "Tell me; don't be afraid," she said
softly. But Miss Jerusha heard.
"Stuff and nonsense!" she exclaimed, with a sneer. "When I was a child,
there was no such coddlin' goin' on, I can tell you."
"It's Peletiah," said Rachel. "Oh, dear me! he's out on the piazza, and he
must be awfully hungry. Can't I make him come in?"
"No, sit still. Husband"--the parson's wife looked down the table--"excuse
me a minute." She slipped out, and in another moment in she came, and
Peletiah with her.
And then Mr. Henderson told such a funny story about a monkey he had read
about only just that very morning, that Ezekiel forgot there ever was such
a thing as tired legs, and even Peletiah had no thoughts for that dreadful
run home from Grandma Bascom's.
As for Rachel, all idea of dinner flew at once out of her head. She laid
down her knife and fork and leaned forward with sparkling eyes, to catch
every word. Seeing which, Mrs. Henderson burst out laughing.
"I'm afraid you are making things worse, husband," she said, "for they
won't eat any dinner at all now.
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