“Oh, that’s all right. And if you want any more, just let me know.”
Finally, when the door was closed on the last contributor, Mrs. Burke dropped into a chair and called:
“Jonathan Jackson, come here quick.”
Jonathan responded promptly, and anxiously inquired:
“Hepsey, be you ill?”
“No, I’m not sick; but we have ten pans of soda biscuit. They are in the pantry, down cellar, in the woodshed, on the parlor table. For mercy’s sake 121 take eight pans out to the chickens or stick ’em on the picket fence. I just loathe soda biscuit; and if any more come I shall throw ’em at the head of the woman that brings ’em.”
