Meantime, Joel had been hanging over the tin plate with the little lumps of dough and loudly protesting that they were all burned up, and that now nobody could eat them. Finally, Polly and Ben satisfying themselves that Jasper’s thumb was really as he said, “all right,” turned off to investigate for themselves the state of the biscuits.
“Indeed, they’re not burned at all,” declared Jasper. “They’re just a lovely brown, and they’ll taste awfully good, I know they will.”
“So do I,” said Ben.
“Give me one,—just one,” begged Joel.
“Get away,” said Ben, as Joel lunged at the tin plate. “You just said they were all burned, Joe.”
“Well, they aren’t,” said Joel. “Do give me just one, Ben,” he whined.
“No,” said Ben, firmly, “you can’t have one till we all have some; and we aren’t near through our baking. Why, just look at Phronsie! She hasn’t finished hers yet.”
“Phronsie never’ll get hers done,” grumbled Joel. “She turns it over and over all the time.”
“Well, you’ve got to wait,” said Ben, and that ended the matter. And then they all set to work busier than ever, around the table, and the little brown biscuits that were baked, were slipped off from the tin plate, and another batch slipped on it; Jasper’s being given the place of honor in the middle. And Ben brought out a pan that Mamsie and Polly always baked their bread in. “There, Polly, let’s put some in there,” as he set it on the table.
“That’s good!” exclaimed Jasper, beaming in approval. “Oh, Polly, my apron’s coming off—”