Suddenly Carl raised his head--he had caught a glimpse of a flying
apron whipping round the stable door. He knew the pattern. It
always gave him a lump in his throat, and some little creepings
down his back when he saw it. Then he laid down the currycomb.
The next instant there came a sound as of a barrel-head knocked in
by a mixing-shovel, and Stumpy flew through the door, followed by
Carl on the run. The familiar bit of calico was Jennie's lost
apron. One half was inside the goat, the other half was in the
hand of the Swede.
Carl hesitated for a moment, looked cautiously about the yard, and
walked slowly toward the house, his eyes on the fragments. He
never went to the house except when he was invited, either to hear
Pop read or to take his dinner with the other men. At this
instant Jennie came running out, the shawl about her head.
"Oh, Carl, did you find my apron? It blew away, and I thought it
might have gone into the yard."
"Yas, mees; an' da goat see it too--luke!" extending the tattered
fragments, anger and sorrow struggling for the mastery in his
face.
"Well, I never! Carl, it was a bran'-new one. Now just see, all
the strings torn off and the top gone! I'm just going to give
Stumpy a good beating."
Carl suggested that he run after the goat and bring him back; but
Jennie thought he was down the road by this time, and Carl had
been working all the morning and must be tired.
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