FRIENDS OF CHILDHOOD
you have. What are you going to do when you git big and want to git into society, if you can't do nothing? Every body 'll say, 'Can you sing? Can you play? Can you speak? Then git right out of society.' An that 's what they 'll say to you, Mr. Gunner."
Gunner and Axel grinned at Anna, who was preparing her mother's breakfast. They never made fun of Tillie, but they understood well enough that there were subjects upon which her ideas were rather foolish. When Tillie struck the shallows, Thea was usually prompt in turning the conversation.
"Will you and Axel let me have your sled at recess?" she asked.
"All the time?" asked Gunner dubiously.
"I 'll work your examples for you to-night, if you do."
"Oh, all right. There 'll be a lot of 'em."
"I don't mind, I can work 'em fast. How about yours, Axel?"
Axel was a fat little boy of seven, with pretty, lazy blue eyes. "I don't care," he murmured, buttering his last buckwheat cake without ambition; "too much trouble to copy 'em down. Jenny Smiley 'll let me have hers."
The boys were to pull Thea to school on their sled, as the snow was deep. The three set off together. Anna was now in the high school, and she no longer went with the family party, but walked to school with some of the older girls who were her friends, and wore a hat, not a hood like Thea.
21
