"It just is! I can't half work, myself!" answered Nancy Harding. "I just wonder if we could take a little run in the car after supper?" "What do you think about it, Mickey?" asked Peter. "Why, I can't see that coming out hurt her any." "Then we'll go," said Peter. "Do I have to be all covered?" questioned Peaches. "Not nearly so much," explained Mickey. "I'll let you see a lot more. There's a bobolink bird down the street Peter wants to show you." "'Street!'" jeered Junior. "That's a road!" "Sure!" said Mickey. "I got a lot to learn. You tell me, will you Junior?" "Course!" said Junior, suddenly changing from scorn to patronage. "Now let's take her to the creek!" "Well that's quite a walk," said Peter. "We're not going there unless I carry the Little White Butterfly. You want me to take you, don't you?" Peaches answered instantly. "Mickey always carries me. He can! And of course I like _him_ the best; but after him, I like you best Peter, so you may, if he'll let you." "So that's the way the wind blows!" laughed Peter. "Then Mickey, it's up to you." "Why sure!" said Mickey. "Since you are so big, and got a family of your own, so you understand----" "What Mickey?" asked Peter. "Oh how to be easy with little sick people," answered Mickey, "and that a man's family is _his_ family, and he don't want anybody else butting in!" "I see!" said Peter, struggling with his facial muscles. "Of course! But this sheet is going to be rather bunglesome. Ma, could you do anything about it?" "Yes," said Mrs. Harding. "Mary, you run up to the flannel chest, and get Bobbie's little blue blanket." Peter lifted the child to his broad breast, she slipped her arms around his neck, and laid her head on his shoulder. Bloom time was past, but bird time was not, while the leaves were still freshly green and tender. Some of them reached to touch Peaches' gold hair in passing. She was held high to see into nests and the bluebirds' hollow in the apple tree. Peaches gripped Peter and cried: "Don't let it get my feet!" when the old turkey gobbler came rasping, strutting, and spitting at the party. Mickey pointed to Mary, who was unafraid, and Peaches' clutch grew less frantic but she defended: "Well, I don't care! I bet if she hadn't ever seen one before, an' then a big thing like that would come right at her, tellin' plain it was goin' to eat her alive, it would scare the livers out of her." "Yes I guess it would," conceded Peter. "But you got the eating end of it wrong. It isn't going to eat us, we are going to eat it. About Thanksgiving, we'll lay its head on the block and Ma will stuff it----" "I've quit stuffing turkeys, Peter," said Mrs. Harding. "I find it spoils the flavour of the meat." "Well then it will stuff us," said Peter, "all we can hold, and mince pie, plum pudding, and every good thing we can think of. What piece of turkey do you like best, Butterfly?" Mickey instantly scanned Peter, then Mrs. Peter, and tensely waited.