"
"Tomorrow will be even harder," said Felicity comfortingly.
"Everything will have to be cleaned up and put away."
Peg Bowen paid us a call the next day and was regaled with a feast
of fat things left over from the supper.
"Well, I've had all I can eat," she said, when she had finished
and brought out her pipe. "And that doesn't happen to me every
day. There ain't been as much marrying as there used to be, and
half the time they just sneak off to the minister, as if they were
ashamed of it, and get married without any wedding or supper.
That ain't the King way, though. And so Olivia's gone off at
last. She weren't in any hurry but they tell me she's done well.
Time'll show."
"Why don't you get married yourself, Peg?" queried Uncle Roger
teasingly. We held our breath over his temerity.
"Because I'm not so easy to please as your wife will be," retorted
Peg.
She departed in high good humour over her repartee. Meeting Sara
Ray on the doorstep she stopped and asked her what was the matter
with her face.
"Wasps," stammered Sara Ray, laconic from terror.
"Humph! And your hands?"
"Warts."
"I'll tell you what'll take them away. You get a pertater and go
out under the full moon, cut the pertater in two, rub your warts
with one half and say, 'One, two, three, warts, go away from me.
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