As these last were rather soiled and had no them patches of paint, Jerrie was attacking them with a will, when her grandmother called out in great trepidation: 'Jerrie, Jerrie, do wipe your hands and come quick! Here's Tom Tracy hitching his horse at the gate.' Jerrie's first impulse was to do as her grandmother bade her, and her second to stay where she was.
'If Tom chooses to call so early he must take me as he finds me,' she thought, while to her grandmother she said: 'Nonsense! Who cares for Tom Tracy?
If he asks for me send him to the woodshed.

I can't stop my work.' In a moment the elegant Tom, fresh from his perfumed bath, the odor of which still lingered about him, and faultlessly attired in a cool summer suit, was bending his tall figure in the door-way of the woodshed where Jerrie, who was rubbing away on Harold's overalls, received him with a nod and a smile, as she said: 'Good-morning, Tom.

You are up early, and so was I.Business before pleasure, you know; so I hope you will excuse me if I keep right on.

I have stinted myself to get through, mopping and all, by ten, and it is now nine by Peterkin's bell.

Pray be seated.