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Bob the Castaway
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Bob! Bob! called a woman in loud tones, as she came to the kitchen door, her arms, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, covered with flour. "Bob, I want you to go to the store for me. I need some more lard for this pie-crust." There was no answer, and the woman looked across the big yard at one side of the cottage. "Where can that boy be?" Mrs. Henderson murmured. "I saw him here a little while ago. He's never around when I want him. I shouldn't be surprised but what he was planning some joke. Oh, dear! I wish he was more steady, and wasn't always up to some mischief. Still, he's a good boy at heart, and perhaps he'll grow better when he gets older." She rubbed her left cheek with the back of her hand, leaving a big patch of flour under one eye. Then she called once more. "Bob! Bob Henderson! Where are you? I want you to go to the store." "Here I am, mother. Were you calling me?" asked a boy, emer-ging from behind a big apple tree.
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