“That’s their name,” insisted Flossie.
“’Tisn’t!” cried Freddie. “It’s buskit! Guess I know!”
“You’re both wrong!” laughed Bert. “But no matter how you call them, they’re going to be good when Nan bakes them. Now you two sit down in chairs where you’ll be out of the way.”
Nan told Bert what to bring her from the pantry so she could make the biscuits, and then, putting on an apron and rolling up her sleeves, she began.
As she had seen Dinah do, she mixed the flour and lard together first, kneading it with her hands.
“It’s just like making mud pies,” said Freddie.
“’Cept it isn’t brown mud—it’s white,” said Flossie.
“I wish I could squeeze ’em like that,” went on Freddie, as he saw Nan working up the dough.
“Well, you can’t, so just you sit still!” Nan told him, with a laugh.
Remembering what her mother had told her, and what she had seen Dinah do, Nan soon had rolled the biscuit dough out on the floured board, and then with a shiny tin thing, she cut out little round, flattened bits of dough, which she put in a buttered pan, ready for the oven.