"If you're going to Glenside, Betty," she remarked dully, stopping
in the doorway of Betty's room as the girl pulled on her hat, "I wish
you'd see if Grimshaw has any meat scraps. Joseph might get me a bit
the next time he goes over. Just ask how much it is, an' all--the
hens need something more than they're getting."
Betty knew that Joseph Peabody would never buy meat scraps for his
wife's hens. Indeed, she had priced stuff several times at Mrs.
Peabody's request and nothing had ever come of it. But she agreed to
go to Grimshaw's if she got that far in her walk, and Mrs. Peabody
turned aside into her own room without asking any questions.
"Gee! thought you never were coming," complained Bob, when the slim
figure in the navy serge skirt and white middy met him at the end of
the lane road. "The sale starts at one sharp, you know, and we'll
miss the first of it. Lots of 'em will come in overalls, so I'll be
in style."
Before they had walked very far they were overtaken by a rattling
blackboard, drawn by a lean, raw-boned white horse and driven by a
cheerful farmer's wife who invited them to "hop in," an invitation
which they accepted gratefully. She was going to the Faulkner vendue,
she informed them, and her heart was set on three wooden wash tubs
and seven yards of ingrain carpet advertised in the list of household
goods offered for sale.
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