“Come, Pet, aren’t you ready?” said Ben, going over to her high-chair.
“I will be, Bensie,” said Phronsie, “in a minute,” and turning over her pat of dough again.
“That’s just the way she’s been doing all the while,” said Joel.
“Never mind,” said Ben. “Well, now, Pet, I guess that’s done.”
“In just a minute—please wait, Bensie,” she begged, pushing up the little lump of dough softly; “see, it isn’t nice like Polly’s,” and she turned it again.
“O dear!” groaned Joel, impatiently.
“Phronsie,” said Jasper, running around to the other side of the high-chair, “see what a cunning little place Polly has saved for you, in the pan—to put your biscuits in.”
“Has Polly saved a place for me?” asked Phronsie, in gentle surprise, and pausing as she was turning her little dough-pat again.
“Yes, indeed,” cried Polly, running over to show her the bread-pan, “right there, Phronsie,—see, in the very middle; and your biscuits will be next to Jasper’s and Ben’s.”
“And mine’ll be there, too!” screamed Joel, interrupting; “tell her, Polly; mine’ll be there, too.”