Sucks books

Kate had left
the wagon, and was shaking with laughter over this extraordinary
goodness on the turkeys' part, and before long our basket was full of
struggling, kicking, squeaking things, "werry promiscuous," in
Mr. Weller's phrase. Mrs. Bemont was paid, and while she was giving me
the change,--
"Oh!" said she, "you're goin' right to Miss Tucker's, a'n't ye?--got
to drop the turkeys;--won't you tell Miss Tucker 't George is comin'
home tomorrer, an' he's ben to Californy. She know'd us allers, and
Melindy 'n' George used ter be dre'ful thick 'fore he went off, a good
spell back, when they was nigh about childern; so I guess you'd better
tell 'em."
"Confound these turkeys!" muttered I, as I jumped over the basket.
"Why?" said Kate, "I suspect they are confounded enough already!"
"They make such a noise, Kate!"
So they did; "week! week! week!" all the way, like a colony from some
spring-waked pool.

"Their song might be compared
To the croaking of frogs in a pond!"

The drive was lovelier than before.


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