"
Philosophizing on the irrationality of old people, she proceeded to
get enough scarcely-ripe peaches for a deep-dish pie. Being horribly
afraid of climbing, she used the simple expedient of grasping the
lower limbs of the tree and shaking down the fruit.
"Missy!" called mother's voice from the dining room window. "That
horse is slobbering all over the peaches!" "I can't help it--she
follows me every place."
"Then you'll have to tie her up!"
"Tess never ties her up in THEIR yard!"
"Well, I won't have him slobbering over the fruit," repeated mother
firmly.
"I'll--climb the tree," said Missy desperately.
And she did. She was in mortal terror--every second she was sure she
was going to fall--but she couldn't bear the vision of Gypsy's
reproachful eyes above a strangling halter; Gypsy shouldn't think
her hostess, so to speak, less kind than her own mistress.
The peach pie came out beautifully and the supper promised to be a
great success. Mother had zealously ascertained Rev. MacGill's
favourite dishes, and was flushed but triumphant; she came of a
devout family that loved to feed preachers well.
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