"I don't see how you can go so fast," observed Peletiah, laboriously polishing up his plate.
"Well, I don't see how you can go so slow," retorted Rachel, with deft passes of the towel over the cup. "My! I sh'd think your elbows had gone to sleep."
"They haven't gone to sleep," said Peletiah, who was always literal; and setting down his plate, half-dried, on the table, he turned over one arm to investigate.
"Of course not, you little ninny," said Rachel lightly. "I didn't——"
"Rachel, Rachel!" said the parson's wife, over by the table. She was getting her material together for baking pies, and she now added gently, "We don't call each other names, you must remember that, child."
"Oh!" said Rachel. She stopped her busy towel a minute to think, then it flapped harder and faster, to make up for lost time.
"Well, go ahead," she said to Peletiah, "and wipe your plate."
So Peletiah, letting his elbows take care of themselves, picked up his plate and set to work on its surface again; and pretty soon the dishes were all declared done, the pan and mop washed out, and hung up.
"What'll I do next?" Rachel smoothed down her apron and stood before the baking-table, a boy on either side.
"Now, boys," said Mrs. Henderson, pausing in her work of rolling out the pie crust, "I think you had better take Rachel down to see Grandma Bascom. I've told her she's coming to-day, and she's quite impatient to see her. And, Rachel, you can tell her about Mrs. Fisher and Polly and the boys. And oh, Rachel, be sure to tell her about Phronsie; she does just love that child so!"