CHAPTER VII.
Now that berry picking was at an end, John Jay slipped back into his old
lazy ways. Errands were run with lagging feet; work was done in the
easiest way possible, and everything was left undone that he could by
any means avoid. Mammy scolded when she came home at night and found
both water-pail and wood-box empty, but he went serenely on with his
supper. No matter what happened, nothing ever interfered with his
appetite.
"Those chillun are gettin' as bad as little young turkeys 'bout strayin'
away from home," mumbled Aunt Susan one morning, as she watched them
slip through the fence soon after Sheba had left the house. "An' they
ain't anything wussah than young turkeys for runnin' off. 'Peahs like
that kind of poultry is nevah satisfied with where they is, but always
want to be where they isn't. It's the same with those chillun."
Although Aunt Susan did not know it, there was one place where John Jay
and his flock of two were always content to stay; that was on the steps
at the side door of the church.
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