“Yes,” said Polly, “to be sure. You won’t stumble this time, Joe, if you look where you’re going.”
“I caught my toe in the rug,” said Joe, racing over to the table; “I was looking at the pan, and I didn’t see where I was going.”
“Well, you must use your eyes so you do see where you’re going,” said Polly with a merry laugh. “There now,” and she put the second pan in Joel’s happy hands. “This one will go all right, I guess.”
And this one did. And it was presently shut up tight in the hot oven, along with the lonely little dough-lumps, now puffing up finely; and Joel, proud as he could be, strutted up and down the kitchen floor. And Polly put away her baking-things, and soon the old kitchen was spick-span, it was so fresh and tidy.
“And now,” she said, “we can’t do anything for that poor old man till those biscuits are done. Oh, dear me, how perfectly splendid; here comes Mamsie!”
And out through the old doorway, and over the flat stone, raced Polly, with Joel at her heels. And they seized Mother Pepper on both sides, holding her arms, while Joel took her big bundle, all the time pouring the story of the poor old man, and the dreadful state he was in, and the biscuits baking, and, oh! Joel must confess how he had upset the pan with the first ones, though Polly tried to stop him, and oh! couldn’t Mamsie fry him some potatoes right away, and ever so much more, till they all three stood in the old kitchen.
“He must have some tea,” said Mrs. Pepper, with a sharp look at him, and throwing off her shawl. “Run, Polly, and get the tea-caddy.”
“O Mammy!” exclaimed Polly. Mother Pepper never had tea unless she had caught cold, or was so tired she must take it, or get sick; and there was now such a very little bit down in the bottom of the caddy. And Polly stood quite still.
“Run, I say, Polly,” commanded Mrs. Pepper; and she pulled the old tea-kettle into a hotter part of the stove. “A fine cup of tea will do his bones good, more’n anything else.”
“There’s such a little bit left,” gasped Polly, not moving.