"This farm ain't ours now, and we couldn't pull them."
Aunt Corinne paused at the fennel bed: then she impulsively
stretched forth her hand and gathered it full.
"I set out these things," said aunt Corinne, "and I ain't countin'
them sold till the wagon starts." So she gathered sweetbrier, and a
leaf of sage and two or three pinks.
"O Bobaday," said aunt Corinne--this name being a childish
corruption of Robert Day: for aunt Corinne two years younger than her
nephew, and had talked baby talk when he prided himself on distinct
English--"you s'pose brother Tip's got a garden like this at the new
place? Oh, the pretty little primroses! Who'll watch them pop open
to-night? How you and me have sat on the primrose bed and watched the
t-e-e-nty buds swell and swell till finally--pop! they smack their lips
and burst wide open!"
"We'll have a primrose bed out West," said Bobaday. "We'll plant
sweet anise too, and have caraway seeds to put in the cakes. Aunt
Krin, did you know grandma's goin' to have green kern pie when we
stop for dinner to-day?"
"I knew there was kern pie made," said aunt Krin. "I guess we better
get into the carriage."
She held her short dress away from the bushes, and scampered with
Bobaday into the yard.
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