166 THE LAND OF PLUCK

“You get in first, because you ’re the littlest,” said Win-
nie, holding her dress tightly away from the plashing wa-
ter with one hand, and pulling the boat close to the shore
with the other.

“No, you get in first, cause you’m a girl,” said Nat. “I
don’t want any helpin’. I’m going to take off my tods and
tockies first, cause Mama said I might.”

Nat could say “shoes and stockings” quite plainly
when he chose, but everybody said “toos and ’tockies”
to him; so he looked upon these words, and many other
crooked ones, as a sort of language of Nat, which all the
world would speak if they only knew how.

In at last,— both of them,—and a fine rocking they
had. The bushes and trees threw cool shadows over the
canoe, and the birds sang, and the blue sky peeped down
at them through little openings overhead, and, altogether,
with the plashing water and the birds and pleasant murmur
of insects, it was almost like Mother’s rocking and singing.

At first they talked and laughed softly. Then they lis-
tened. Then they talked a very little; then they listened
again, lying on the rushes in the bottom of the canoe.
Then they ceased talking, and watched the branches wav-
ing overhead; and, at last, they both fell sound asleep.

This was early in the forenoon. Mother was very busy
in the cabin, sweeping the room, making the beds, heating
the oven, and doing a dozen other things. At last she took
a plate of crumbs, and went out to feed the chickens.

“Winnie! Nat!” she called, as she stepped out upon
the clean, rough door-stone. “Come, feed the chickens!”