"Then I suppose you don't care for any of the pie when it's baked," said his mother, coolly; "folks who can't help along in the work, shouldn't have any of the good things when they're passed around."
"Oh, yes, I do want some pie," declared Joel, vehemently. "Dave and me both want some; don't we, Dave?"
"Yes, I do," said little Davie, "very much indeed, Mamsie."
"And I want some pie," echoed Phronsie, hearing the last words, and smoothing down her pink apron.
"So you shall have, Phronsie," promised Mrs. Pepper, "and so shall every one of you who's glad to work, and be useful."
"We'll be useful and work," cried Joel, tumbling out into the woodshed to wash up. "Come on, Dave; then we'll get our pie when it's baked."
[XXIV]
HOW JOEL STARTED THE FIRE
"Now," said Polly, to the old stove, "just remember how you acted that day when Mamsie made Mrs. Brown's jelly!" She was standing in front of it, and she drew herself up very straight. "You ought to be ashamed, you naughty thing, you! to make such trouble. Now I've stuffed you up all good and nice in the holes, and when I come home I'll build a fresh fire, and then, says I, you've got to bake a whole batch of bread just as nice!" and Polly shook her brown head very decidedly, and whirled off to the bedroom door. "Come, Phronsie," she called, "hurry up, Pet. O dear me!" Phronsie still sat on the floor by the big bureau, with one red-topped shoe in her hand, and patting it.
"The other one is on, Polly," said Phronsie, as she saw Polly's face; "truly it is," and she stuck one foot out.