“Pies; and you know you’re as fond of pies as anybody, Mr. Pipkin.”
“Wal, so I be, your pies. I declare, you do beat the Dutch with your apple-pies, if I do say it. There, Phin, I guess you can go along with the belly now. If it’s for pies, I’ll pare till the cows come hum!”
Thus disguising his obedience to his wife’s request, Mr. Pipkin took the pan and the knife, and Mrs. Pipkin recovered from her astonishment.
“Jack might pare the apples and let Phi braid!” Phin complained, getting into difficulties with his whiplash. “Darn this old belly!” And he flung it across the room.
“Phineas! you shall go to bed if I hear any more such talk,” said Mrs. Chatford, as sternly as it was in her kind motherly nature to speak. Then looking at Jack in the corner, “How happens it you are not reading your book to-night? It’s something new for you to be idle.”
“O, I don’t feel much like reading to-night,” said Jack, whose heart was where his treasure was.
“He’s thinking about his half-dollar, waiting to know if it’s a good one,” sneered Phin.
“Shouldn’t wonder if that half-dollar had dropped out of old Daddy Cobb’s money-box,” remarked Mr. Pipkin, taking a slice of apple.
“Mr. Pipkin! these apples are for pies!” said Mrs. Pipkin, in a warning voice.
“Daddy Cobb’s money-box! what’s that?” faltered Jack, fearing he had found an owner to the coin.