She had been given a long blue velvet cloak that the youngest Haven
could no longer squeeze into. It was trimmed with shaggy fur that had
once been white. Ivy admired it so much that when she was not wearing it
out of doors she was carrying it around in the house in a big roll, as
tenderly as if it had been a great doll.
It was an odd little procession that filed past Uncle Billy's house
every day, on the way to the woods for autumn stores. John Jay came
first, with a rickety wagon he had made out of a soap-box and two solid
wooden wheels. He looked like a little old man, with his long coat and
turned up trowsers. Bud came next in his new suit, but he had lost his
hat, and was obliged to wear a handkerchief tied over his ears. Ivy
brought up the rear, continually tripping on her long cloak, and jolting
her white toboggan cap down over her eyes at almost every step.
Nuts and persimmons and wild fox-grapes filled the little wagon many
times, and made a welcome addition to Mammy's meagre bill of fare.
Late one evening John Jay came running up the path all out of breath.
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