“But, mother, just see the pictures! Here’s the one that shows when the prince rode on the horse which was shod with golden shoes, and could run faster than the wind!”
That was too much for practical Mrs. Weston.
“Look here, Randy, that’ll do! That shows what kind of a book it is. Who ever heard of shoeing a horse with gold! Land knows it costs enough to shoe them with iron; and as for running faster than the wind, why, anybody’d know better. You give me the book till I ask your father what he thinks of it. I’ll put it up on the mantel, back of the clock, and show it to him to-night and see what he says.”
As Mrs. Weston usually meant what she said, Randy was forced to submit; but she could not help thinking it a trial to have to do without the wonderful book until her father should have time to read it.
“Now,” said Mrs. Weston, “come in and help me make these pies.”
“Oh, yes,” said the girl; while she thought, “What a change from the prince’s castle to the hot kitchen and apple pies!” However, she was a thoughtful girl, and seeing a tired look on her mother’s face, she took a big yellow dish on her lap, and grasping a knife began to pare apples as if her life depended upon it.
The first she pared rapidly and deftly, the next one took her a little longer, and the sixth she held in one hand while the knife lay idly in the other, as she gazed out of the window, wondering if the hot, sunny road which led to the village could be at all like the high-road over which the king’s huntsmen returned to the castle.
“Randy Weston! I thought you was parin’ apples! Bring the dish here and we’ll finish them together. At that rate you wouldn’t get them done in a month!”
Randy started. “Oh, dear! I meant to have peeled them in no time,” said she.
“Well, never mind,” said her mother; “we’ll do them together, and then you can get out the things for me to make the crust with.”