And the farmer’s wife cried, “For mercy’s sake, Mr. Brown, lift that pie down, or that boy will smash it.” So the big custard pie was safely taken from the shelf and set on the table.
“Dave, see—the custard pie!” screamed Joel, waving frantically for David to come.
“There’s somethin’ in th’ pitcher,” said the farmer, handing down the lemonade. “I guess that’s for th’ party.” So he set that on the table, too.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper. “Mr. Atkins gave Davie a couple of lemons the other day. And Polly has made this for Joel’s party.”
“I want it now—my party,” cried Joel, and pulling out the table-drawer to get the big knife. Then he suddenly stopped. “I’ve got to wait for Polly,” he said.
“You better wait till your big brother gets here, too,” said the farmer, pointing with a thumb over his shoulder in the direction he supposed Polly and Ben would appear.
“Yes, so I say,” cried Mrs. Brown, swaying comfortably back and forth in the rocking chair.
“They’re never coming,” declared Joel, in anguish at any proposed postponement of the cutting of the pie. Still he must see Polly before it was cut.
“I wouldn’t wonder ef they was comin’ down th’ road this very minute,” said Mrs. Brown.
“You better run an’ see,” added the farmer.