“Oh, Polly,” screamed Davie in a transport, “you are that old black man,” while Joel marched after echoing, “Any rags, Mam?” and swinging an imaginary bag at every step he took.
Suddenly Polly stopped, tore off the cap and the coat. “Take back the potato bag into the provision room, Joel,” she said, tossing it to him. “I forgot the stove, and the bread has got to go in. O dear me!” She flew over to the sink, and presently back she came. “There now, I’m scrubbed clean, but I’ll get all black again, I suppose,” and she kneeled down again before the stove.
Mrs. Pepper came out of the bedroom and stopped a minute by the green door to smile at them all. Then she went out with her bundle to take to Mr. Atkins at the store; but first there was another errand of importance to attend to, so she turned off at the cross-road. The smile had dropped away from her folded lips, as she stepped swiftly along toward the Peters farm.
“Here she comes—here’s Mis Pepper!” cried Matilda. “Do stop wringin’ your hands, Ma. You hain’t done nothin’ else sence yesterday. Mis Pepper can’t blame us.”
“O dear,” mourned Mrs. Peters. “’Twas th’ quince sass that made all th’ trouble.”
“’Twarn’t th’ quince sass at all,” contradicted Matilda flatly. “Pa never said a word about it. Do stop—Mis Pepper’s at th’ door.”
“Rat-tat!” went the old iron knocker. Matilda jumped, all her nerves askew, while Mrs. Peters sank down in the nearest chair.
“O dear, there ain’t time to git on a clean apurn.” Matilda opened the big door—her tongue clapped up to the roof of her mouth, and she couldn’t find a word to say.
“Is your father in?” asked Mrs. Pepper pleasantly. Then she looked into the scared face. “Don’t feel badly—you couldn’t help it,” she said.
Matilda twisted her hands in her dirty apron. “We feel dreadful—Ma an’ me,” she said, and burst out crying.