Presently Laura called out, “I have got the lemons ready; bring me that box of sugar.”
The box was brought, a ten-pound one, and full to the brim.
“Laula, don’ pu’ dat! Dat au ’alt, Laula!”
“Allie doesn’t like to see his pet sugar thrown away in such a big hole,” said she, gayly, as she emptied the box into the oaken cask. “Run for the ice-water, I hear them coming from all directions.”
Great white lumps of ice, pure cold water,—in they went, and Laura stirred violently with her monstrous ladle.
“Allie shall have the first taste,” said she, “to show him that his dear sugar is not wasted.”
“Allie don’ wan’! Allie know e au ’alt.”
“All spoilt? No, dear, just see how nice it is!”
“Laula pu’ in ’alt,” said he, again. “Laula ta’!”
Laula did “ta’,” then; and she dropped the cup with a scream of horror. For, besides the fact that ten pounds of salt in any combination do not help to make either a refreshing or a thirst-allaying drink, here were five dozen fine lemons, and many quarts of ice-water, a hopeless loss.