“O dear me!” exclaimed Polly, “I’ll tie it up again, Jasper,” and she dropped the dough she was patting deftly, on to the bread-board.
“You keep still, Polly,” said Ben; “I’ll tie him up,” suiting the action to the word. “There, I guess you won’t get that out in a hurry, Jasper.”
“You’ll have to untie me, old chap,” said Jasper, “when the baking’s over. Oh, Polly, this plate is all full now. Let me put it in the oven.”
“And I’ll open the door,” said Ben, hurrying over. “That’s just fine,” he said, regarding the biscuits admiringly.
“Let me see—let me see before you put them in!” cried Joel, getting from his chair to run over to the stove. “I want to see them, Ben.”
“Come on, then,” said Ben, as Jasper paused, resting the tin plate on the sill of the oven.
“Oh, aren’t they splendid!” exclaimed Joel, his fingers itching to get hold of one of them, “and those others are little bits of squinchy ones—”
“You be still, and not abuse those other biscuits,” said Jasper, slipping the tin plate carefully into the centre of the oven; “they’re just splendid, too—” and Ben shut the oven door with a clang.
“They’re dreadfully little,” said Joel, clambering up into his chair.
“Well, now they’re all done but Phronsie’s,” said Polly, as the tin bread-pan was ready to slip into the oven on its last journey. “I’ve saved a place for hers, right here in the middle.”