“O, you didn’t!” sneered Silly. “I know where you got ’em: you stole ’em!—Mother, they’re the very things Mrs. Thompson sent over to Hulda Prime yesterday afternoon; and I took ’em.”
“Land of liberty sakes! You don’t mean it!” cried Mrs. York, with uplifted hands.
“Now, you young ones, take them things right back!” cried Silly, stamping her foot and jerking her arms about in an extraordinary manner.
“I wouldn’t send them back, Silly,” said her father, with a faint hope of retaining the delicacies, the sight of which had made his mouth water. “Perhaps Hulda Prime sent ’em!”
“Hulda Prime, indeed! Ketch her parting with her things; she’s too mean. No; they shall go back, quick, too. What would Mrs. Thompson say? Don’t you feel mean, Becky Sleeper?”
From the color of Becky’s face it was evident she was not contented with the situation. As for Teddy, he was terrified, expecting every moment the swinging arms of Silly would be attracted to the vicinity of his ears.
“Now, off with you,” continued Silly, tossing the articles into the basket; “and don’t you ever show your faces here again. Purty capers you cut up, Becky Sleeper,” picking up the basket. “Here, take hold of it,” opening the door. “Now, start yourselves, quick, or I’ll know the reason why.”
Bang went the door, and the charitable party were in the road, with the rejected offering still upon their hands. They stood a moment looking at each other and the closed door behind them, Becky’s face crimson with shame, Teddy’s eyes, now that he was out of danger, blazing with anger.
“Well, well,” sputtered Teddy, “here’s a purty kettle of fish. Nice scrape you’ve got us in now, Becky Sleeper! You ought to know better.”