Patty had only stopped pounding for half a minute. It seemed to her that her right hand always had a mortar-pestle in it. She ran now to get some playthings for Job—a string of earthen-ware beads, and a pewter plate to hold them when he should break the string; and a squash-shell, filled with peas,—just as good as a rattle, let me tell you. Then she sat on the floor, making baby-talk with the little creature, who has since that been somebody's grandfather.
Patty always meant well, and now she was really able to help a great deal. At ten years old she was quite a tall girl, though what the country-folks called rather "slim." Her dress was made of thick cotton and woollen goods, all rough with little knobs,—the same Rachel had woven in "blue and copperas checks."
Patty soon tired of amusing Job. She wanted to do something of more importance.
"I should think I might chop mince-meat instead of you, Moses. There, now, you're getting it so fine 'twill be poison."
Aunt Hannah heard that and laughed.
"That child takes everything in earnest," said she. "I told Moses if he got the mince-meat too fine, 'twould be poisonous; but I never saw any mince-meat that was too fine—did you, Rachel?"
"Mary," said Mrs. Lyman, "if you please, you may poke up the coals now. George, you'll have to move round, and let her get to the oven."
"I'll attend to it myself," said George, rising from his chair, at one end of the big fireplace, and stirring the glowing coals in the brick oven with the hard-wood "poking-stick."
"Now, if you'll all keep still," said James, "I'll read you something from the newspaper."
Moses dropped his chopping-knife, Mary looked frightened, and Patty stopped shaking the squash-shell. They knew it would never do to make a noise while James was reading.