“Wish!—oh!” The mother’s voice quivered as she dropped into the rocker and put her hands to her face.
“For goodness’ sake, don’t cry! We haven’t got it yet!” Blue walked off towards the table, whistling softly. “Oh, say!” he burst out, “Mrs. Homan brought you this.” He held up the pie.
“How good everybody is!” Mrs. Stickney wiped her eyes, and pulled off her gloves. “Come and sit down, Blue, and tell me all about it! What made you think they were in the triangle?”
“I didn’t; ’twas Doodles. He wondered if they could be there, and I scouted the idea—didn’t I, old feller? Oh, if anything comes, it’s for Doodles, sure!”
Of course, the small boy protested; but Blue only laughed, while he proceeded with his account of the afternoon’s excitement.
For a full half hour the apple pie waited. Then Doodles suggested supper. Pies did not occur every day on the Stickney table.
CHAPTER XXII
THE COMFORTING OF EUDORA FLEMING
“You can’t guess where I’ve been to-day.” Tillie Shook began, unfolding the towel that held her knitting, and arranging the pile of wool in her lap.
“Oh, what a pretty pink!” cried Doodles, wheeling himself nearer.