“Yes, I know,” said Polly, recklessly, “but I’ll tell you one now, Mamsie would say I could, if she were here.”
“Then I want it,” said little David, happily, and reaching out his hand for a big piece of bread. And Joel began to cram down his slice as quickly as possible to get the sooner to the story which he felt quite sure would not be forthcoming until Polly saw the bread disappear, when the door opened so suddenly that they all three jumped.
Deacon Blodgett’s round face appeared. “How d’ye do, Polly?” and without further ado, he marched in, and laid a bundle on the table wrapped in old newspaper, in between the potato skins and the plate of bread. “Somethin’ Mrs. Blodgett sent, and I’ve got to go down to John Hines’s, and if you’ll let Joel and David go with me, I’ll take ’em along. They can tend to what’s in that bundle on th’ way.”
Joel had already torn off the old newspaper, little Davie quite willing to sit still and watch the proceeding.
There was disclosed a much-worn clean napkin with a red border all around it, and Joel’s frantic hands soon got this open, and there were some of the slices of beef he had smelt just before dinner in the Blodgett kitchen, and thick pieces of bread with,—really and truly there was, and plenty of it,—butter spread all over them! And at last—and didn’t Joel’s eyes stick out then, and even Davie held his breath!—two little apple turnovers tucked in at the bottom!
“They can eat those in th’ wagon,” said Deacon Blodgett, when he could be heard for the shouts sent out by Joel, and Davie’s crows of delight, “if you’ll say, ‘Yes, they can go,’ Polly.”
“Oh, yes, yes, yes!” cried Polly, saying it so fast, over and over, it seemed as if she were never going to stop. “Dear Mr. Blodgett, they can go, and oh, you are so good to ask them!” and it didn’t seem a minute before they were all off and she was picking up the potato skins and clearing the table neatly, as the rattle of Deacon Blodgett’s wagon wheels died away in the road.
V
BAKING DAY
“DEAR me!” said Jasper, standing on tiptoe and running his head well within the old cupboard, “how perfectly fine! I wish we had one just like this at our house,” he added enviously.
“Isn’t it!” cried Polly, with sparkling eyes, quite delighted that he should so approve. “And we keep our very best dishes here.” She pointed up to a blue willow plate, and one or two cracked cups and saucers on the upper shelf.