“Joe,” called Ben, as Joel and David hurried off dragging the big pail, which banged over the rickety steps, “don’t you get that water; Jasper and I are coming out for it.”
And in a minute or two, there the two boys were, all washed up, fresh and clean, out by the big barrel into which a rain-spout ran to collect the water so that Mrs. Pepper could wash the clothes, with Polly and Ben helping her.
And between them they made very quick work over filling the big tub. And then—after the hands were all washed up spick and span,—“Oh, now for the baking!” exclaimed Ben, with great satisfaction, and hanging up the towel by the sink.
“Yes, now for the baking!” they all exclaimed. And soon the old kitchen was the scene of a great excitement, till it thrilled with life in every corner. And the fire burned with clear little winks of light that seemed to say, “Go right ahead, and be as jolly as you want to, I’m with you in everything!”
And the flour bag was brought out from the old cupboard. It took two of the boys to get it, although it wasn’t a big bag by any means, nor was it anywhere near being full. It was brown flour, to be sure, but Jasper declared that was ever so much nicer than if it were white. And the little tins—they were just as clean and shining as they could be, for Polly always kept them so. Besides, she had given them an extra rubbing over that very morning to have them ready. But now, of course, they must have the dish-towel whisked over them again, to be actually sure that they were all right. Oh, the old kitchen was a very busy place, any one could see, with something for all the fingers to do. Even Phronsie was provided for in that respect, for she was polishing up the little tin biscuit cutter most carefully.
“But, dear me!” Polly stopped in the midst of all this merry bustle. “Oh, how could I forget!” Then she dashed into the bedroom and threw open the middle drawer of the old bureau, just above the one where Phronsie’s red-topped shoes were always kept. And she pulled out one of Mrs. Pepper’s clean blue-checked aprons. “Here,” as she ran back to Jasper, “I must tie it around your neck—Mamsie said so—before you began to bake.”
“That’s fine,” exclaimed Jasper, as the big apron fell down in folds almost to his feet, and Polly tied the strings around his neck. “Now, says I, you’ll see what biscuits I’m going to make!” and he brandished the rolling pin.
And then Phronsie must sit up to the table and have a small piece of dough to make little biscuits all alone by herself. And she patted the lump into shape, turning it over and over to push it here and there before she cut one out with the top of the small tin salt-shaker that Polly took off for her, and singing softly to herself all the while. This she did so many times that at last Joel looked up from his end of the table. “Look at Phron,” he cried, “she hasn’t cut one single one out yet!”
“Hush, Joe.” Polly, with a tin plate covered with small lumps of dough that were going to be the most beautiful biscuits in good time, in her hand, turned quickly as she was just going to slip them into the hot oven, and ran up against Ben. “O dear me!” as he put up his hand, but away went the tin plate, falling bottom upward, and all the little lumps hitting the floor.
