“So you shall,” cried Polly briskly. “See if there’s plenty of wood in the box, Joe, the first thing,” as she hurried into the pantry to get the baking materials.
“Yes; there is,” declared Joel, poking his head back of the stove to investigate; “lots and lots, Polly Pepper. I’m going to put some more in;” and he set up immediately a great clatter that told the work was well under way.
“Don’t put too much in, Joe,” warned Polly, knowing his energies in that direction; “you will have the house a-fire. Goodness me, do take out that last stick,” as she came in with the bread-bowl.
“Can’t,” said Joe; “it’s got little sparks on the end.”
“Then I’ll blow ’em out,” said Polly, setting down the bread-bowl on the table; and running over to the stove, she pulled out, to Joel’s extreme dislike, the big stick he had last crammed in, and suited the action to the word. “There, you’ve got plenty in already, goodness knows, Joe Pepper!” she declared, getting up with a very red face. “You know Mamsie doesn’t like us to crowd the stove tight chock full. It burns splendidly, this new one does, and we’ll have the chimney a-fire if we don’t look out.”
“The chimney ain’t a-fire,” grunted Joel. “I’ll run out and see.” And he dashed toward the door.
“Come back: of course it isn’t now,” said Polly with a laugh, and flying over to the baking-table. “Oh, dear me! I ought not to laugh when that poor old man is hungry.” Then she suddenly dropped everything, and ran over to him trembling away in Mamsie’s big chair.
“We haven’t anything in the house to eat but some cold potatoes,” she said, the color all over her face; “and our mother is going to fry those for our dinner when she comes home. But I’m going to bake some biscuits, if you could wait, poor old man. They’ll soon be done; for we’ve got a new stove, and it bakes splendidly.” Then Polly hurried back to her table, while the old man mumbled something down in his throat, she couldn’t tell what, he shook so.