"When will you make the pie, then?" cried Joel, trying to smother his disappointment, and finding it hard work to do so.
"Just as soon as ever this jell is done and out of the way," said Mother Pepper, in her cheeriest tones. "So, Polly, fly at getting the breakfast ready, and when that's eaten, we'll all, except Ben, tackle the jell."
When the dishes were all cleared off, and Polly was washing them, Mrs. Pepper turned to Joel. "Run over to Mrs. Brown's now, Joe, and get her kettle."
"What kettle?" asked Joe, who didn't relish being turned out of the kitchen in all the bustle of getting ready for the jelly-making.
"The preserve-kettle," answered Mrs. Pepper. "She'll tell you where 'tis. I told her I'd send you over for it. And be real still, Joe, and don't ask her questions, 'cause she's miserable, and is in for a long sick spell if she doesn't look out."
So Joel went off, wishing there weren't any such things in the world as preserve-kettles, and presently, back he came, dragging it after him "bump-bump."
"Oh, Joe," cried Mrs. Pepper, in dismay, "how could you!"
"I don't b'lieve he's hurt it, Mamsie," said Polly, running up to examine the kettle closely; "he couldn't, could he? it's all iron."
"No, I don't suppose he could really hurt it any," said Mrs. Pepper, "but he oughtn't to drag it along and bump it. Things that don't belong to us should be handled extra carefully. Well now, Joe, set down the kettle, and go and wash your hands, you and Davie, and then come back and pick over these blackberries, and Polly'll take hold as soon as she gets through with the work."
"O dear, I don't want to pick over old blackberries," whined Joel.