“And I'll bake you one, Jasper,” said the child as he put her down; “I will very truly—some day.”
“Will you,” smiled Jasper; “well then,” and there was a whispered conference with Phronsie that somehow sent that damsel into a blissful state of delight. And then while Phronsie monopolized Prince, Jasper told them all about the reception of the parcel—how very dull and forlorn he was feeling that morning, Prince and he shut up in-doors—and how his father had had a miserable night, and had eaten scarcely no breakfast, and just at this juncture there came a knock at the door, “and” said Jasper, “your parcel walked in, all dressed up in flowers!”
“They weren't our flowers,” said Polly, honestly. “Mrs. Blodgett put 'em on.”
“Well she couldn't have, if you hadn't sent the parcel,” said Jasper in a tone of conviction.
Then he launched out into a description of how they opened the package—Prince looking on, and begging for one of the cakes.
“Oh, didn't you give him one?” cried Polly at this. “Good old Prince!”
“Yes I did,” said Jasper, “the biggest one of all.”
“The one I guess,” interrupted Joel, “with the big raisin on top.”
Polly spoke up quickly to save any more remarks on Joel's part. “Now tell us about your father—and the 'gingerbread boy.'”
So Jasper broke out with a merry laugh, into this part of the story, and soon had them all in such a gale of merriment, that Phronsie stopped playing out on the door-step with Prince, and came in to see what the matter was.