"Ka-ty! Katharine!"
"Yes, Widow Sprigg! Here I am—coming. What is it? Something to do?"
"Well, I should say 'twas somethin' to do! Here's that wild-headed Monty took an' scampered off just as I was takin' this batch of punkin pies out the oven. Eunice wants me to send a couple of 'em to Madam, an' this currant-jell-roll. I laid out to add a loaf of brown bread an' a pat of butter, 'cause, say what they will, an' let Madam Sturtevant be as good butter maker as they claim, I 'low old Whitey's milk can't hold to richness alongside our young Alderneys; an' besides, can't be much milk left for butter after Monty an' Alfy's drunk their fill. 'Tain't much besides milk they do get, nuther, 'cept what we send 'em. Well, it's most like two families bein' one the way Eunice she feels. I wonder, could you be trusted to carry the things to the Mansion?"
"Could I not?" cried Katharine, gaily, skipping about the kitchen in her fanciful way at this prospect of a change. "And I'd go that cross-fields road Monty showed me. Over the meadows amongst the goldenrod, past the stone walls where the woodbine and clematis run over each other trying to make the old gray rocks beautiful. There's a corn-field down beside the river so like a picture papa painted that I can almost see his dear hand holding the brush. And the forest is like a great palette set full of reds and blues and greens and yellows, out of God's own color-box. Oh, it's such a glorious old world, Susanna, and I'm so glad, so glad to be alive!"
The widow put her arms akimbo and looked at Katharine over her spectacles, as she might have studied some new and rather formidable insect. Then she remarked:
"My suz! you didn't look none too peart when I first called ye. If I'd had an opinion to give I should ha' give it that you was down in the mouth. Well, never mind. You're a funny child, but I guess you'll make some kind of woman if you live long enough. Hand me down that basket from the second pantry shelf, whilst I wrop that jell-roll in a napkin. Take notice of the basket. Eunice, she had it made to the basket-maker's up-mountain. She's dreadful good to the basket-makers, Eunice is."
"Widow Sprigg, I think she's 'dreadful good' to everybody—to everybody lives. Yet she looks so sort of stern and dignified sometimes I feel afraid of her. But it is a curious basket, truly. What—"
"Watch an' see, an' don't ask so many questions. Girls' eyes ought to save their tongues."
The basket was beautifully woven of finest willow, and was like a tiny cupboard in the matter of shelves, each shelf fitted with a little rim to keep whatever might be placed upon it from slipping off. There were six of these shelves, all removable at will, and Susanna now took out all but two. Upon these she placed the pies, and in the larger spaces left bestowed a monster loaf of brown bread, the jell-roll and the butter. As there was still a small part unfilled she added a tumbler of strained honey, covered the whole with a napkin, hooked down the lid, and said:
"Now get your hat and jacket. See 't your shoes is tied; them silk strings is too fancy for use. Got a handkerchief? All your buttons fastened? Feel just comf'table everyways?"