David began eagerly, “Oh, Mamsie—” then he stopped when he saw her face.
“O dear,” grumbled Joel. “It’s awful hard work piling wood without Dave. Isn’t dinner ready?” he asked, impatiently.
“It will be in a few minutes,” said Mrs. Pepper, slicing the potatoes over by the table. “See, Joey, I’m going to give you fried potatoes to-day.”
“Oh, goody!” exclaimed Joel, rushing over to the table and smacking his lips. “See, Dave, fried potatoes!”
David tried to smile as he turned off.
“And I shall fry them brown,” said Mrs. Pepper, cutting the last potato into thin strips.
“She’s going to fry ’em brown,” announced Joel in great excitement, and running over to pull David’s jacket, “real crispy brown, so they’ll crack in your teeth. Won’t you, Mamsie,—really crispy, cracksy brown,” deserting David to rush over to the table again.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, smiling at him, as she went over to the stove to set on the frying-pan. “Where’s Ben? It’s time that he was here.”
“I forgot,” said Joel, a flush spreading over his round cheeks; “Deacon Blodgett said Ben wouldn’t come home.”
Mother Pepper paused with the frying-pan in her hand. “Did Deacon Blodgett say why?”