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“There, don't take on so, dear,” said Mrs. Partington,
as she handed Ike a peach he had been crying for.
He took the peach, and a minute afterwards was heard
whistling “Jordan” on the ridgepole of the shed. “He
is sich a tender-hearted critter,” said she to Mrs. Sled,
smilingly, while that excellent neighbor looked at him
through the window with two deprecatory eyes — “He is
so tender-hearted that I can't ask him to go out and draw
an armful of wood or split a pail of water without setting
him crying at once.”

She paused for Mrs. Sled's mind to comprehend the
whole force of the remark concerning Ike's lachrymosity.

“And he 's the most considerable boy, too,” resumed
she, “that ever you see; for when we had the inclination
on the lungs, he would n't take a bit of the medicine
Dr. Bolus had subscribed, 'cause he knowed it would do
me good, and said he 'd full as lieves take molasses!”

She went on with her knitting, and Ike became lost
in the foot of a stocking that she was toeing out. Those
grapes on the trellis opposite where Ike is sitting look
tempting!

Mrs. Partington says there must be some sort of
kin between poets and pullets, for they both are always
chanting their lays.

p677-068

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