And them children! I'm jest longin' to see 'em.
They must be lovely."
"From what Tip says," I interjected.
"From what Tip says," she went on. "He was tellin' me about Earl and
Alice Eliza, and Pearl and Cevery and the rest of 'em. He says it's
jest a pickter to see 'em all in bed together--a perfect pickter."
"A perfect picture," said I sleepily.
"Tip must have a lovely home. Why, he tells me they have a
sewin'-machine."
"Lovely," said I. "And a spring-bed."
"And a double-heater stove," said she.
"And an accordion," said I.
"And a washin'-machine," said she.
"And two hogs."
"And he tells me he's going to git her a melodium."
"Indeed," said I. "Why, I thought he was never going back."
"To sech a lovely home?" The old woman held up her hands. "He's goin'
jest as soon as he gets that me-yule and you're able." She laid her
hand on my forehead. "There," she cried, "it's painin' you again, poor
thing--that terrible spot."
It was hurting, despite the Modern Miracle, and I closed my eyes to
bear it better.
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