“You’re gettin’ that babyfied since Cass come back doin’ all fer ye. You has a heap o’ company. Thar’s the cow to keer fer, ‘n’ ol’ Pete hollerin’ at ye, an’ the chickens tellin’ how many aigs they’ve laid fer ye. Run now. Thar’s ol’ Frizzle cacklin’. Get the aig, an’ we’ll send hit to the pore sick man. Thar, Cass,” she added, as Hoyle ran out, half ashamed, to do her bidding — ”hit’s your own fault fer makin’ such a baby of him. I ‘low you betteh take ‘long a few fresh aigs; likely they’ll need ‘em, so triflin’ they be. I don’t guess you’ll find a thing in the house fer him to eat.”

Cassandra packed one of her oddly shaped little baskets,