"Dost mean"—
"Ay do I, just that. And because I could not but laugh merrily at the notion when 't was placed before me last Sunday night, the Assistant looketh sourly enough but dareth not meddle with me lest I make others laugh as well as myself."
"Priscilla! Mary!" called Elizabeth Tilley's voice from the doorstep. "Mistress Brewster would have you in to see about noon-meat."
"But thy news, poppet, quick!" exclaimed Priscilla as gathering up her gear she slowly led the way up the hill.
"Why, the governor hath resolved upon a day, or rather a week, of holiday and of thanksgiving for the mercies God hath showed us. Think of it, Pris! A whole week of feasting and holiday!"
"Hm!" dryly responded Priscilla. "It sounds well enow, but who is to make ready this feasting?"
"Why—all of us—and chiefly you, dear wench, for none can season a delicate dish or"—
"Ay, ay, I know that song full well; but dost really think, Molly, that to do a good deal more, and a good deal harder cooking than our wont, will be so very sprightly a holiday?"
"But 't will be doing our part to make holiday for the others," replied Mary simply.
"Now, then, if thou 'rt not at thy old tricks of shaming my selfish frowardness!" exclaimed Priscilla, and laughing they entered the house where all the women of the community were assembled in eager debate over their share in the approaching festival.