That's why she invited them." "And you don't know anything about this one ?" questioned Rob.
"Not a thing.

I shouldn't be su'prised if she's mighty countrified, for the farm is several miles from a railroad, and the people she lives with don't think of anything but work, yeah in and yeah out." They had reached the post-office by this time, and Rob held out his hand for the letters.

"I'll put them in for you," he said.

Then, dropping them into the box, one by one, he repeated the rhyme: "One flew east and one flew west.
And one flew into the cuckoo's nest." Lloyd added, quickly: "Eugenia, Joyce, or Elizabeth, Which of the three shall we like best ?" "Joyce," said Rob, promptly.
"I think so, too," agreed the Little Colonel, stooping to fasten the locust blossoms more securely behind the pony's ears.
"Well, the invitations are off now.

Come on, Tarbaby, and see if you can't beat Bobby Moore's old gray hawse so bad it will be ashamed to evah race again." With that the little black pony was off like an arrow toward Locust, with the big gray horse thundering hard at its heels.
The dust flew, dogs barked, and chickens ran squawking across the road out of the way.