Jeminy answered: "I have taught them to read the works of
celebrated men, and to cheat each other with plus and minus."
"Ah," said another voice, with a dry chuckle like salt shaken in a
saltcellar, "well, that's good."
"Who speaks?" cried Mr. Jeminy.
"What," exclaimed the voice, "don't you know me, old friend? I am plus
and minus; I am weights and measures. . . ."
"Lord ha' mercy," cried Mrs. Grumble from the floor, "have you gone
mad? Whatever are you doing, standing there, with your mouth open?"
"Eh!" said Mr. Jeminy, stupidly. "I was dreaming."
A red squirrel sped across the path, and stopped a moment in the
doorway, his tail arched above his back, his bright, black eyes peering
without envy at Mrs. Grumble, as she bent above the pail of soap-suds.
Then, with a flirt of his tail, he hurried away, to hide from other
squirrels the nuts, seeds, and acorns strewn by the winds of the autumn
impartially over the earth.
In the afternoon, Mr. Jeminy went into his garden, and began to measure
off rows of vegetables.
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