CHAPTER VI BACK TO MAMSIE
“TH’ beef’s biled ’mos’ to nothin’,” said Mrs. Brown, sticking a long iron fork into the pot of corned
beef, surrounded by bubbling heaps of cabbage. She had thrown off her sunbonnet on the old sofa in
the sitting-room¹, and hurried into the bedroom where she had deposited Phronsie, fast asleep, on the
gay patched bedquilt.
“There, you sweet lamb, you!” Then she hurried out to see about the belated dinner.
“John,” she called, as she ran out to the barn, “come, dinner’s ready.”
Farmer Brown turned as he was leading the old white horse to his stall. “Is she awake?” pointing with
his thumb to the house.
“No,” Mrs. Brown sped back to the kitchen.
“What’ll we do with that little gal²?” the farmer’s face puckered³ all up with dismay as he reflected:
“Nobody on th’ road knows th’ fust thing about her, an’ I s’pose her Ma’s cryin’ her eyes out.” He
slouched up to the kitchen door.
“I thought you was never comin’”; his wife set the big blue platter with the corned beef and its
generous fringe of cabbage on the table; then down went the dish of potatoes and the loaf of bread.
“Th’ beef’s all biled to pieces,” she said, getting into her chair.
“What beats me,” said Mr. Brown, sitting down heavily, and taking up the horn-handled carving⁴
knife and fork, “is, what are we to do with her.” He pointed⁵ with carving knife to the bedroom.
“I d’no,” said his wife; “do help out that beef. It’s all biled to death,” passing her plate.
“It will eat just as good,” said the farmer, cutting off a scraggy strip, and dishing up a generous
spoonful of cabbage to go with it to the waiting plate. “Well, Nancy, I’m beat to know what we’re
goin’ to do with her.”
“Do stop talkin’ about her,” cried his wife. “She’s asleep now. And I’m as nervous as a witch.”

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