So she improvised, secretly and ecstatically, as she went towards the side entry.
“There's 'Bijah Flagg drivin' in,” said Miss Miranda, going to the window. “Step out and see what he's got, Jane; some passel from the Squire, I guess. It's a paper bag and it may be a punkin, though he wouldn't wrop up a punkin, come to think of it! Shet the dinin' room door, Jane; it's turrible drafty. Make haste, for the Squire's hoss never stan's still a minute cept when he's goin'!”
Abijah Flagg alighted and approached the side door with a grin.
“Guess what I've got for ye, Rebecky?”
No throb of prophetic soul warned Rebecca of her approaching doom.
“Nodhead apples?” she sparkled, looking as bright and rosy and satin-skinned as an apple herself.
“No; guess again.”
“A flowering geranium?”
“Guess again!”
“Nuts? Oh! I can't, Bijah; I'm just going to Milliken's Mills on an errand, and I'm afraid of missing Mrs. Perkins. Show me quick! Is it really for me, or for Aunt Miranda?”