“No,” said Gretel, regretfully, “I—I couldn’t manage to get but two, but I thought it would be all right. They’re quite large, and you can each have one. I don’t care about any myself.”
Peter regarded the two fat cream-puffs with longing eyes.
“That pig, Lill, would grab ’em both if she got her hands on ’em,” he remarked reflectively. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do; we’ll eat ’em up here, and she won’t know. She’s got such grand manners she won’t come into the kitchen.”
“Oh, no, that wouldn’t be at all nice,” protested Gretel, half laughing in spite of her horror at Peter’s suggestion. “You can each have one; I truly don’t want any myself.”
But the demon of mischief had entered into Peter Grubb. Before Gretel had the least idea of his intention, he had sprung forward, snatched both cream-puffs from the plate, and was brandishing one in each hand.
“Catch me if you can,” he shouted, and the next moment he had darted out of the kitchen, and was running at full speed down the long entry.
Attracted by the sound of triumph in her brother’s voice, Lillie forgot manners and everything else, sprang from her seat, and rushed out into the hall.
“What’s he up to?” she demanded breathlessly.
“He’s taken the cream-puffs and run off with them,” explained Gretel, almost in tears at such an exhibition of rudeness as she had never before known. She was still carrying the empty plate, in the vain hope of reclaiming “the refreshments.”
“Cream-puffs!” shrieked Lillie; “my fa-vo-rites!” And she rushed off in pursuit of Peter, who had taken refuge in Mrs. Marsh’s bedroom, and was already cramming a cream-puff into his mouth, with lightning speed.