“Oh, mammy's pretty well,” shouted Polly into the old lady's ear; “and to-morrow's her birthday!”
“To-morrow'll be a bad day!” said grandma. “Oh, don't never say that. You mustn't borrow trouble, child.”
“I didn't,” said Polly; “I mean—it's her birthday, grandma!” this last so loud that grandma's cap-border vibrated perceptibly.
“The land's sakes 'tis!” cried Mrs. Bascom, delightedly; “you don't say so!”
“Yes,” said Polly, skipping around the old lady, and giving her a small hug; “and we're going to give her a surprise.”
“What is the matter with her eyes?” asked grandma, sharply, turning around and facing her; “she's been a-sewin' too stiddy, hain't she?”
“A surprise!” shouted Polly, standing upon tiptoe, to bring her mouth on a level with the old lady's ear; “a cake, grandma, a big one!”
“A cake!” exclaimed grandma, dropping the broom to settle her cap, which Polly in her extreme endeavors to carry on the conversation, had knocked slightly awry; “well, that'll be fine.”
“Yes,” said Polly, picking up the broom, and flinging off her hood at the same time; “and, oh! won't you please tell me how to make it, grandma!”
“To be sure; to be sure;” cried the old lady, delighted beyond measure to give advice; “I've got splendid receets; I'll go get 'em right off,” and she ambled to the door of the pantry.