“You’ll go to Mis’ Pepper’s for me, or you’ll get no sugar from me,” declared the storekeeper, just as decidedly, Mrs. Atkins during this colloquy exclaiming—“So she can—Sally can tell Mis’ Pepper,” joyfully to herself, as she followed the other two all the way through the kitchen to the shop door. For Sally, wisely concluding to take the best that was offered her, finally assented to Mr. Atkins’s proposal, and seized the paper of sugar, saying, “Yes, I’ll go.”
“Be sure you’ve got the message right,” said Mr. Atkins, holding her arm until she had gone over the message three times to make certain that there could be no mistake. “Mr. Tisbett is comin’ to-morrow mornin’ to take Joel and David to Cherryville. Be ready sharp at eight o’clock.”
At last the weary storekeeper and his wife were back in their kitchen. “Now that’s done,” and he took off his out-of-door coat and hung it up with an air of relief.
“The pie’s all cold,” declared Mrs. Atkins, in vexation, and she twitched it off the table.
“Bring it back, Sarah,” said her husband; “I’m hungry as a wolf.”
“It’s cold as a stone,” said Mrs. Atkins, pausing to turn a vexed face.
“Well, cold or hot, I’m goin’ to have some,” said Mr. Atkins, dropping into his seat at the supper table and laying hold of his knife and fork.
So the beefsteak pie was dumped down on the table in front of his plate once more, and Mrs. Atkins slipped into her seat to pour out the tea.
Meantime Sally Brown ran like a good one up the hill and down again, fully intending to drop the parcel of sugar at home and then off over cross lots to the Little Brown House, but dashing into the kitchen she found herself in the midst of the entire family gathered around a common centre, so, dropping the brown-paper bundle on the table, she burst in among the group to hear what the excitement could be.
“Oh, ain’t it too cunnin’ for anythin’!”