"Mamsie," cried Polly, suddenly, "do you suppose we'll ever have one? Do you?"
"Maybe," said Mrs. Pepper, not looking into the brown eyes, but keeping her own bent on her work; "but I wouldn't think of it, Polly, if I were you. Things don't happen if you sit down and fold your hands and watch for 'em."
"Well, I don't b'lieve it will ever happen that we do get a shortcake, any more than we had a chicken pie," said Polly, turning away with a sigh.
"Why, you had your chicken pie, Polly," cried Joel, "only 'twas a goose."
"Old gray goose!" said Polly, scornfully. "It was trimmed with a posy, though, and that was nice, wasn't it, Mammy?" brightening up.
"Yes, indeed," cried Mrs. Pepper, cheerily; "and you baked it so good, Polly."
"So it was baked good," said Polly, all her good humor returning. "And it did not make so much matter, did it, Mamsie, that he was tough?"
"No, indeed," said Mrs. Pepper, laughing; "he lasted all the longer, you know, Polly."
"Mean old gray goose!" exclaimed Joel, at the remembrance; "he most broke my teeth, trying to eat him."
"Do you remember, Joe, how you teased for the drumstick?" laughed Polly. "You soon put it down on your plate, didn't you?"