“Be sure you make the pies,” he said with an emphasis which showed he meant to have it remembered.
“All right, dear.”
“You’d better cook the fruit to-night,” he added.
“All right. I’ll tell Hepsie.”
“Better do it yourself,” he cautioned.
“She can do it. I’ll tell her,” Elizabeth said without looking up, but she knew that that would not end the discussion the moment it was out of her mouth. She recognized John’s most unpleasant insisting mood.
“Mother always tends to her own pie-baking. Girls never get things right,” he said emphatically, waiting for her to raise her eyes to his.
“Yes, yes, dear,” the girl answered, looking up as he required. “She can do it just as well as I can; it don’t hurt her to stand on her feet.”
She had given the sign of submission and he was ready to be pleasant about it, but he reiterated the demand.
“I know, dear,” he said, kissing her, “but I can’t bear to have things coming on the table not right when we have men about. It don’t take long to make a few pies.”