The motherly soul was warmly welcoming the children, while her kind tongue ran on.
“Cricket has a bad headache, ’Manda,” answered Marjorie; “will you let her lie down here for a while?”
“Why, for the land’s sake! Poor little dear! lie down on my sofy? why, of course she shall,” and she had Cricket in her arms in a moment. “You all sit right down here for a spell and make yourselves perfectly to home, while I fix up this poor little critter.”
“No, we won’t stay now, thank you,” said Marjorie. “Could you let us have some large pails to fill with berries? Papa says that ’Gustus John offered to bring our extra berries to town for us to-morrow.”
“Certain, sure, he did, my dear. You jest go right in the but’try and git some of them big pails a-settin’ right along side o’ the flour-barrel. You know where ’tis, I guess. An’ Miss Marjorie, git some o’ them fresh ginger-cakes I baked this mornin’, they’re on the but’try shelf, an’ find some milk, an’—”
“Oh, dear, no, thank you,” protested Marjorie, laughing, “we’ve had plenty of luncheon, and have filled up all the corners with berries. We only want some pails.”
“Now, Madge, Madge, young lady, speak for yourself. I want to test Mrs. Hecker’s ginger-cakes and milk, for my accordion’s began to close,” said Alex.
“Dear me!” cried Marjorie, in despair. “We’ll have to feed you on dried apples and water. They’ll fill you up, if nothing else will.”
“Not any, I thank you,” returned Alex, quickly. “I’ve no desire to be a howling swell.”
’Manda, meanwhile, had bustled off with Cricket, into the cool, dark, little best-parlour, and had laid her on the slippery hair-cloth sofa, with its round, bolster-like pillow, about as downy as if it were stuffed tight with sawdust. But any place, quiet and dark, was grateful to the poor little aching head, whose temples throbbed in jerks that brought tears to the blue eyes.