"Now, why shouldn't I! I've got neighbors that's all been tryin' to be neighborly to me in their way; why shouldn't I be neighborly in my way? I can't be neighborly jest leavin' a card, or drinkin' tea with my gloves on—Yes, I will! Drusilla'll be neighborly in Drusilla's way."
She was as delighted as a child at the thought. She hurried into the pantry and returned with some plates and napkins. She piled a few of her confections upon each plate, carefully covered it with a napkin, then called William.
"William," she said, "you take that plate o' cookies over to Mis' Gale's, and tell her that I sent 'em, bein' it was my bakin' day. See she gets 'em and they don't stop in the kitchen. And take that plate o' gingerbread to Mis' Cairns; and them fried cakes to Mis' Freeman; and tell 'em all I sent 'em with my love. Tell 'em I made 'em myself."
William looked at her but did not move.
"What you lookin' at me fer? Take 'em as I said. Put 'em in a basket if you can't carry 'em, or have one of the girls help you."
"But, ma'am, but—"
"But what? Ain't you never took cookies to one before?"
"Why—why—no, ma'am. Never in the houses where I've served—"
"Now that'll do, William. Don't begin that. That's what James always says when he specially wants to be disagreeable. If you haven't ever took a neighbor a plate o' cookies or some gingerbread, right hot out of the oven, you've missed a lot. So do as I say!"
"But—ma'am—I'm sure they have all the cakes they need. Mr. Cairns is a—very—very rich man, and they have a cook, a French cook. Why, he has an income of more than a million dollars a year, and—and—"