“It’s beginning to pop!” cried Jimmy excitedly, as he drew the corn-popper back and forth on the hot griddles with a busy scratching sound.
“Don’t let it burn,” warned Barbara. “How would you like some little hot biscuits, Jimmy, and some strawberry preserves?”
“Strawberry ’serves?” he echoed. “I didn’t know we had any ’serves.”
“Well, we have. I’ve been saving ’em for—for your birthday, Jimmy.”
“Oh, I’m glad!” cried the little boy, redoubling his efforts. “See me work, Barb’ra. Don’t I work hard?”
“Yes, indeed, dear.” She hesitated, then added in a low voice, “You always will work hard; won’t you, Jimmy?”
The child watched her gravely while she shook the crisp white kernels into a bowl. He was thinking of her question.
“Do you think I’ll have to go to school much longer, Barb’ra?” he asked. “It takes such a long time to go to school.”
The girl wheeled sharply about.