Flyaway made quick work of drinking her white tea, and when she came to the last few drops she swung her cup round and round, saying,—
"Didn't you know, Hollis, that's the way gampa does, when he gets most froo, to make it sweet?"
No, Horace had not noticed; it was "Fly, with her little eye," who saw everything, and made remarks about it.
"O, O," cried Grace, dropping her knife and fork, and patting her hands softly under the table, "isn't it so nice to be at Willowbrook again, taking supper together? Doesn't it remind you of pleasant things, Susy, to eat grandma's cream toast?"
"Reminds me," said Susy, after reflecting, "of jumping on the hay."
"'Minds me of—of—" remarked Flyaway; and there she fell into a brown study, with her head swaying from side to side.
"I don't know why it is," said Prudy, "but since you spoke, this cream toast makes me think of the rag-bag. Excuse me for being impolite, grandma, but where is the rag-bag?"
"In the back room, dear, where it always is; and you may wheel it off to-morrow."
It had been Mrs. Parlin's custom, once or twice every summer, to allow the children to take the large, heavy rag-bag to the store, and sell its contents for little articles, which they divided among themselves. Sometimes the price of the rags amounted to half or three quarters of a dollar, and there was a regular carnival of figs, candy, and fire-crackers.
Horace was so much older now, that he did not fancy the idea of being seen in the street, trundling a wheelbarrow; but he went on with his cream toast and made no remark.