"Oh no, please mamma, dear," I said, "I like so to choose too."
Half the pleasure of the sixpence would have been gone if Haddie and I had not spent it together.
"Then I will go on," said mamma, "and you two can come after me together."
She took out her purse and gave my brother the promised money, and then with a smile on her dear face—I can see her now as she stood in the light of the street-lamp just at the old Quakeress's door—she nodded to us and turned to go.
I remember exactly what we bought, partly, perhaps, because it was our usual choice. We used to think it over a good deal first and each would suggest something different, but in the end we nearly always came back to the old plan for the outlay of our sixpence, namely, half-penny crumpets for threepence—that meant seven, not six; it was the received custom to give seven for threepence—and half-penny Bath buns for the other threepence—seven of them too, of course. And Bath buns, not plain ones. You cannot get these now—not at least in any place where I have lived of late years. And I am not sure but that even at Mexington they were a spécialité of dear old Miss Fryer's. They were so good; indeed, everything she sold was thoroughly good of its kind. She was so honest, using the best materials for all she made.
That evening she stood with her usual gentle gravity while we discussed what we should have, and when after discarding sponge-cakes and finger-biscuits, which we had thought of "for a change," and partly because finger-biscuits weighed light and made a good show, we came round at last to the seven crumpets and seven buns, she listened as seriously and put them up in their little paper bags with as much interest as though the ceremony had never been gone through before. And then just as we were turning to leave, she lifted up a glass shade and drew out two cheese-cakes, which she proceeded to put into another paper bag.
Haddie and I looked at each other. This was a lovely present. What a tea we should have!
"I think thee will find these good," she said with a smile, "and I hope thy dear mother will not think them too rich for thee and thy brother."
She put them into my hand, and of course we thanked her heartily. I have often wondered why she never said, "thou wilt," but always "thee will," for she was not an uneducated woman by any means.
Laden with our treasures Haddie and I hurried home. There was mamma watching for us with the door open. How sweet it was to have her always to welcome us!