“Aunt Ellen,” a breathless boy called, rushing into the cabin in the morning, “Ma’s sick and wants you.”
And Aunt Ellen went at once and left Hazel alone.
When the cake was baked and frosted Hazel looked at it with mingled delight and distrust. It had risen, but had it not fallen since? She must not taste it to find out. It was made of sugar and flour and eggs and it had been beaten until her hand and arm were first prickly, and then stiff with fatigue. It ought to be light. And anyway it was round and had white icing; certainly it was a beautiful looking birthday cake.
Hazel put it carefully in the bottom of her trunk. The party she decided should be on the morrow.
“What is the matter with you, child?” Granny said the next day as they sat down to dinner. “You’s as restless as a bird, and you ain’t eating more’n a bird would eat.”
“Ain’t you going to teach Scip?” she said later, when Hazel failed to take her books and papers and climb the hill.
“Scip can’t come to-day, Granny, he said so. Let me help you.” And Hazel began to straighten things in the room. “Can’t we sweep a little?”
The old woman was clearly puzzled but she helped Hazel with the work.
“Let’s dress up and pretend it’s Christmas,” Hazel exclaimed when three o’clock came. “I’ll put on my white dress and you put on your new calico.”
“I’s got to work, child,” Granny said a little severely.