"What?" And the next second her dearest friend, Laura Brainerd, was standing before her, and putting her hand on each shoulder, scanned Marietta's face.
Then, with a sob accompanying each word, came the sentence, "My caramel cake is heavy!"
This answer was so unexpected that, although Laura twisted her lips in every possible direction, and contorted her pretty mouth until it was absolutely homely, she had to give way at last, and then followed such a hearty laugh that her friend Marietta opened her dark blue eyes to their widest, and simply stared at her.
"Dear little Mariette," she exclaimed, "how absurd of you to care so much about a cake!" And then, seeing a wounded look steal over her friend's sensitive mouth, she added, "I know your caramel cake is always delicious, and I'll trust your hamper any time for holding no end of good things." And Laura smacked her lips, as if already tasting them.
"But it won't now," was the doleful response.
"Oh, pshaw! don't be such a silly girl. Tell me what you're going to take."
"Oh, nothing but sardine and chicken salad, pickled beets and walnuts, roast-ham sandwiches, blackberry and lemon meringue pie, cookies, almond cake—"
And as she was evidently not yet through, Laura interjected: "Don't tell me there is any more, or I'll not be able to sleep all night. Oh, how can I wait for to-morrow to come, anyway?" and impatient Laura paced hurriedly up and down the room.
"Yes, there is something more. I shall take big juicy plums;" and Mariette, holding up her hand, made a ring by touching her second finger and thumb together, and laughingly added, "So big, and with such a soft bloom on them that you'd like to taste one, I know."
"One! A dozen!"