"Now mamma! Now auntie!" came in chorus. "It isn't that at all, but it will be such fun, and we are going to make an 'apple cobbler' for dinner."
"Are you! Who said so?"
"Why, mayn't we?" asked Dimple, somewhat taken aback.
"Who will make it?"
"Why, we will, of course. I've seen Sylvy do it often, and I know exactly how. Do, do let us, mamma."
It seemed too bad to dampen their ardor, and Mrs. Dallas, rather dubiously, consented, but charged them not to eat under cooked dough, or raw apples.
Every one was up betimes the next morning. Sylvy had set everything in readiness for breakfast, and had taken an early departure, and Mrs. Dallas was to leave on the nine o'clock train.
"I shall be back by eight o'clock," she told the children. "Don't set the house afire, and don't make yourselves ill."
"Now, don't worry over us," said Dimple, loftily; "we shall do finely."
But she did feel a little sinking of heart as her mamma's form was lost to view, and the two girls turned from the gate.