I've heard tell of
them 'sylums. They say the chillen don't have nothin' to eat or wear but
what folks give 'em. Think of them with their po' little empty stomachs
settin' waitin' for somebody to think to send 'em dinner! I'm goin' to
make a jar full of gingercakes fust thing in the mornin' and put it on
the pantry shelf where that child can he'p herself.--Anne, uh!
Anne!--She's 'sleep. I jest wondering if she'd rather have gingercakes
or tea-cakes dusted with sugar and cinnamon. Peter Collins! I tell you,
you got to work and pervide for yo' chillen. I couldn't rest in my
grave if I thought one of them'd ever have to go to a 'sylum. I see you
last week give a knife to that Hawley boy.--What if he was name for
you?--I don't keer if it didn't cost but ten cent. You'll land in the
po' house and yo' chillen in 'sylums if you throw away yo' money on
tother folks' chillens.--Peter, fust thing in the morning you catch me a
chicken to fry for that po' child's breakfast. And remind me--to git
out--a jar of honey," she concluded drowsily.
CHAPTER XXII
The next morning, after Anne insisted that she could not possibly eat
any more corn-cakes or biscuits or toast or fried apples or chicken or
ham or potato-cakes or molasses or honey, Mrs.
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