"I don't know, exactly; baked custards are nice."
"Yes," assented Dimple, doubtfully, "but I'm afraid we couldn't manage to make them just right; they seem sort of hard; and you don't like huckleberry pudding."
"Then let's have apple 'cobbler;' we both like that."
"Yes, and it is easy, at least I think it is, just crust and apples. Well, we'll have that. I do wish mamma would hurry up and tell us."
The two established themselves on the lowest step, as near as possible to the library, where Mrs. Dallas was sitting.
"Don't make such a noise," said Dimple, as Florence, to while away the time, began to sing; "you will keep mamma from thinking. Just let's whisper." So for a half hour or more a little whispering sound went on, interspersed by stifled laughter. Then at the noise of Mrs. Dallas' hand upon the door knob, the two girls sprang to their feet.
"Hurry up, mamma, tell us," cried Dimple, as the door opened.
"When you give me a chance," replied Mrs. Dallas, smiling. "I am going. Does that please you?"
"Oh! oh!" cried the two, dancing up and down.
"How flattering you are," said Mrs. Dallas, laughing; "I never had pleasure so fully shown for such a cause. So you will be delighted to get rid of me?"