"Why, I don't know, Mis' Plumfield," said the lady, while Fleda threw her arms round her aunt, and thanked her; "there ain't nothin' particler pork and beef, and the old story. I've got some first-rate pickles. I calculated to make some sort o' cake in the morning."
"Any of those small hams left?"
"Not a bone of 'em, these six weeks. I don't see how they've gone, for my part. I'd lay any wager there were two in the smoke-house when I took the last one out. If Mr. Didenhover was a little more like a weasel I should think he'd been in."
"Have you cooked that roaster I sent down."
"No, Mis' Plumfield, I ha'n't; it's such a plaguy sight of trouble!" said Cynthy, with a little apologetic giggle; "I was keepin' it for some day when I hadn't much to do."
"I'll take the trouble of it. l'll be down bright and early in the morning, and we'll see what's best to do. How's your last churning, Cynthy?"
"Well, I guess it's pretty middlin', Mis' Plumfield."
" 'T isn't anything very remarkable, aunt Miriam," said Fleda, shaking her head.
"Well, well," said Mrs. Plumfield, smiling; "run away down home now, and I'll come to-morrow, and I guess we'll fix it. But who is it that grandpa has asked?"
Fleda and Cynthy both opened at once.