"No!" answered Ester, with energy. "Did you hear me tell you to shut that door this instant?"
"Well now, don't bite a fellow." And Alfred looked curiously at his sister. Meantime the door closed with a heavy bang. "Mother, say, mother," he continued, as his mother emerged from the pantry, "I don't see any thing of that hammer. I've looked every-where. Mother, can't I have one of Ester's cookies? I'm awful hungry."
"Why, I guess so, if you are really suffering. Try again for the hammer, my boy; don't let a poor little hammer get the better of you."
"Well," said Alfred, "I won't," meaning that it should answer the latter part of the sentence; and seizing a cookie he bestowed a triumphant look upon Ester and a loving one upon his mother, and vanished amid a renewal of the whistle and bang.
This little scene did not serve to help Ester; she rolled away vigorously at the dough, but felt some way disturbed and outraged, and finally gave vent to her feeling in a peremptory order.
"Julia, don't eat another raisin; you've made away with about half of them now."
Julia looked aggrieved. "Mother lets me eat raisins when I pick them over for her," was her defense; to which she received no other reply than—
"Keep your elbows off the table."
Then there was silence and industry for some minutes. Presently Julia recovered her composure, and commenced with—
"Say, Ester, what makes you prick little holes all over your biscuits?"