"I got them wet this morning, down at the swamp.

I thought they were dry, though: I sat with my feet in the oven until Patty drove me off.

She said I was in the bread." "You will have to put on your best boots," said her mother.
"Oh, Tom!" called Gypsy, in despair, as the shrillest of all shrill whistles came up through the window.

"Everything's in a jumble! I'll be there as soon as I can." She changed her boots, tossed on her turban, whisked on her sack, and began to fasten it with a jerk, when off came the button at the throat, and rolled maliciously quite out of sight under the bed.
"There!" said Gypsy.
"Can't wait!" shouted Tom.
"I mended that sack," said Gypsy, "only yesterday afternoon.

I call it too bad, when a body's trying to keep their things in order, and do up all their mending, that things have to act so!" "I think you have been trying to be orderly," said her mother, helping her to pin the offending sack about the throat, for there was no time now to restore the wandering button.