his paws on her dough and burn a streak from here to Boston you could drive a elephant through."
"I see him doin' it, right now," Edith said.
"I'd like to see him follerin' a band of sheep in a pair of them knee pantings," Tippie said, yielding at last to the painful process of a grin.
"And a cute little coating with stripes on the back of it like a chipmunk," Edith suggested.
"Or a skunk," said Tippie. His grin spread. It appeared to hurt him outrageously, but provocation was too great; it could not be suppressed.
"Monday. That's to-day," Rawlins said, eager in his anticipation of the return home.
"I've been expectin' them all the afternoon," Edith said, the laughter fading out of her eyes. "They sneaked off Saturday night and left that note."
"It's going to be kind of awkward for you as the jilted lady, isn't it?" Rawlins asked, turning to her vivaciously.
He was sorry for the break next moment. The humor of such a situation was not apparent to Edith. She was grave and thoughtful; her face betrayed some anxiety over her position in the house under that new arrangement.
"I hope the old snipe won't try to boss me around," she said.
"If he does, bust him wide open," Tippie advised.
"Well, hurry on in to supper," she said, briskly. "I was expectin' somebody, and two of one kind can eat as much as two of another, I guess. It's all ready."
She ran into the house, Tippie looking after her thoughtfully.
