“Good afternoon, young ladies,” called out the huckster, reining up his horse. “What’ll ye hev in my line?”
“Have you any very nice asparagus?” asked Marguerite.
“Grass? No mum; it’s a leetle late fer grass. Nice egg-plants now, or cauliflower.”
“Oh, cauliflower!” cried Nan. “That will be fine—you can make a salad.”
“So I can,” said Marguerite; “and here’s lovely-looking corn. You make some of your delicious corn fritters.”
“I will,” said Nan; “and let’s buy a watermelon, and then, with bread and butter and coffee, that will be enough.”
“Seems’s if we ought to have a made dessert,” said Marguerite, as they followed the huckster’s slowly moving vehicle to the house.
“I’ll make a snow pudding,” said Nan. “Let’s give them a real bang-up supper.”
“All right,” said Marguerite; and the two fell to work with such vigor that Rosie stared at them in astonishment, for she had secretly thought this particular duet ornamental rather than useful.
“Fly round, Rosie,” said Marguerite to the smiling Irish girl. “Husk this corn, please, and cut it carefully from the ears—we want to make fritters. Perhaps you’d better grate it.”