“Where? Wh—why, in the basin,” answered the boy, bending forward and looking into it with a perfectly satisfied expression on his dirty face. “Didn’t you say to put ’em there?”
“That’s just what I did say; but, ye bad boy, ye’ve put ten in yer mouth ter ary one went inter the dish! I don’t want no more sech help, an’ ef my hands wasn’t all over dough, I’d fix ye! Clear right out o’ here, quick!”
Fritz waited no second order. Rosetta’s face was not a pleasant one at that instant; but when he stopped to ask, from a prudently safe position outside the doorway, what she was “a-cookin’ sech a lot for?” she replied savagely, if with something like tears in her eyes: “I’m a-cookin’—fer folks! But I’d a’most ruther do it fer a fun’ral!”
More perplexed than ever, and with that sort of feeling in his small stomach which demanded sympathy, he wandered away into “grandmother’s part” of the house. It was always sunshiny and delightful in “grandmother’s part,” and to it as a haven of rest the raisin-surfeited youngster turned, secure of a reception that would be kind.
“I’ll tell grandma about that old Rosetta thing! She’s crosser than cross!” But though grandmother smiled sweetly upon her little grandson as he entered, it was in an absent sort of way which seemed rather the force of habit than of welcome. She was talking with Fritzy Nunky; and, as naturally as possible, Fritz second marched to the uncle’s knee to be lifted up.
“Nunky can’t take you now, little man. Run away and read your books in the corner.”
Fritzy was mad. And his stomach did begin to feel very queer. He kept tasting raisins and tasting them, till he felt as if he should never care to see another. But as there was absolutely nothing else to be done, he went to the corner designated, and sat down to look at pictures.
Grandmother and Uncle Fritz paid no attention to him; indeed, they quite forgot his presence, and went on talking as if he were a nobody. Fritz resented this at first; then he became interested in what they were saying; and at a word of Uncle Fritz about Munich and the schools there, he sat up and listened intently.
“Nay, Fritz!” said grandmother; and her voice had rarely sounded so sharp. “Nay, thee must not ask that. Thee is taking the light of my eyes away from me in my old age, but thee must leave me my children’s children.”
That was queer, wasn’t it? Yet Uncle Fritz appeared to be doing nothing but sitting there in the easy-chair and looking straight upon the carpet. Finally, he replied:—