"I'm going over to the Wigginses'."
"What for?"
"I'm going to ask them to come over here to-morrow and spend the day."
"Why, Ruth Whitman, ain't you afraid to?"
"No, I ain't afraid. I'm going to carry over a jar of the honey—mother 'll be willing—and I'm going to tell Mrs. Wiggins just how it was."
"She won't hear a word you say."
"I'll make her hear."
"They won't come a step."
"You see."
The Whitmans kept bees, and their honey was the celebrated luxury of the neighborhood. Ruth got a jar of clear white honey out of the closet, put it under her shawl, and was off. First, though, she instructed Serena to go out in the garden and dig a good supply of parsnips and clean them for the next day's dinner.