Robert Day could not help noticing the difference between his
grandmother's wagon and the wagons of the Virginians. Their wagon-beds
were built almost in the shape of the crescent moon, bending down
in the centre and standing high at the ends, and they appeared half
as long again as the Ohio vehicle. The covers were full of innumerable
ribs, and the puckered end was drawn into innumerable puckers.
The children took their dinners to the yellow top of a brand-new
stump which, looked as if somebody had smoothed every sweet-smelling
ring clean on purpose for a picnic table. Some branches of the felled
tree were near enough to make teeter seats for Corinne and Thrusty
Ellen. Jonathan and Robert stood up or kneeled against the arching
roots. Dinner taken from the top of a stump has the sap of out-door
enjoyment in it; and if you have to scare away an ant, or a pop-eyed
grasshopper thuds into the middle of a plate, you still feel kindly
towards these wild things for dropping in so sociably.
Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen were rather silent, but such remarks as
they made were solid information.
"You don't know wher' my fawther's got his money," said Jonathan.
This was stated so much like a dare that Robert yearned to retort
that he did know, too.
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