“I think a picnic is perfectly splendid! I’ve forgot what you pick, though,” said Posy, looking puzzled.
“You pick people’s cupboards, I should say,” replied Eliza, measuring out sugar. “I hate the very sound of a picnic! I thought I had all I could do before, but now here’s queen-cake”—
“Oh, that’s right, ’Liza! And some strawb’ry-jelly tarts, and cherry-turnovers, and peach-pie!” cried Pollio, turning a somerset in the middle of the floor. Eliza winked her eyelashes, and said something about children’s being seen, and not heard. Pollio thought they had a right to be heard, and so do I at proper times; but I must say these little Pitchers did trouble Jane and Eliza too much. Jane was a saint, and could sweep a floor with children under her broom; but Eliza couldn’t make cake unless the kitchen was clear, and said so much about “going crazy,” and “wanting to fly,” that Pollio really thought she wasn’t quite right in her mind.
“No: not strawb’ry-jelly tarts, but plum-jelly tarts, and ice-cream, and—oh, dear, Posy! you say what else.—I want a basketful, ’Liza, and Posy wants a basketful, and Teddy wants a basketful, and Edy wants”—
Before Pollio could finish, he was on the other side of the kitchen-door, and the door was shut in his face.
Eliza was ashamed of her temper next minute, and sent Posy after him with a hot cream-cake.
“Won’t Eliza make a queer angel, though, when she dies?” said Pollio, as he broke the cake in two pieces, to divide with Posy. “If she acts like this, they won’t have her in the parlor with the rest of the angels, you’d better believe.”
But he always forgave Eliza very sweetly; and her putting him out of the kitchen never made any difference about his going right back again to be as troublesome as ever.