"Well, when it comes to hearing a proposal for a baking frolic, my principles are thrown to the wind," said Jasper recklessly. "Why, boys, that's the first thing I remember about the little brown house. Do say yes, Mrs. Pepper!"
VIII
SOME BADGERTOWN CALLS
"Well, I declare!" exclaimed Grandma Bascom, opening the door and looking in, "I never!"
"Come in," cried Mr. King sociably. His night over at the parsonage had been a most fortunate experiment. "I haven't slept so finely in ten years," he confided to Mrs. Whitney as they met at breakfast at the minister's table. So now, his face wreathed with smiles, he repeated his invitation. "Come in, do, Mrs. Bascom; we're glad to see you."
"I never!" said Grandma Bascom once more, for want of something better to say, and coming close to the center of operations.
Jasper, attired in one of Mrs. Pepper's long aprons, which was fastened in the style of the old days, by the strings around his neck, was busily engaged in rolling out under Polly's direction, a thin paste, expected presently under the genial warmth of the waiting stove, to evolve into most toothsome cakes. Ben was similarly attired, and similarly employed; while Joel and David were in a sticky state, preparing their dough after their own receipt, over at the corner table, their movements closely followed by the three Whitneys.
Phronsie, before a board laid across two chairs, was enlightening old
Mr. King who sat by her, into the mysteries of baking day.
"Do bake a gingerbread boy," he begged. "I never had anything half so good as the one you sent over to Hingham."
"You were my poor sick man then," observed Phronsie, with slow, even pats on her bit of dough. "Please, the rolling-pin now, Grandpapa dear."