"This is Saturday morning, Gail, and Mrs. Grinnell says I can go to Martindale with her if you will let me," said Peace, a few days after their midnight conference. She might have added that she herself had asked for the invitation, but for reasons of her own she made no mention of this fact.
Gail looked up from the pan of yeast she was "setting," and hesitatingly began, "Well—"
"I've wiped the dishes and fed the hens and dusted the parlor—"
"But I haven't swept the parlor yet," Gail protested.
"I can't help that. I have dusted," Peace answered, firmly. "If I had waited until you got ready to sweep, Mrs. Grinnell would have been gone."
Gail giggled in spite of her efforts to check the smile on her lips, and then soberly said, "But what about the eggs?"
"I have delivered my bunch already."
"Why, Peace, those baskets weren't full! What will Mrs. Abbott think?"
"Oh, I fixed that all right. There wasn't time to do much hunting for our own eggs, so I borrowed the rest of Mrs. Hartman."
"Peace Greenfield! What shall I do with you?" cried the older sister in utter discouragement, dropping her hands from her pan of mixing in a gesture of despair which scattered a cloud of flour over herself and the impatient pleader.