“You forget the parson coming to tea,” said Mrs. Brimmer, bringing out her pie-plates from the pantry. “Let me see; I shall make four mince ones.”
“He isn’t company!” cried Rosy. “Mr. Higginson isn’t; I ain’t a bit afraid of him.”
“No more you should be,” exclaimed Mrs. Brimmer, setting down her pie-plates; “and then again, child, there isn’t any call to be afraid of any one, so long as you haven’t been doing anything wrong.”
“But it scares me to think something don’t look nice, or I don’t know how to do things,” said Rosy.
“Well, that’s very silly,” observed Mrs. Brimmer, going for her pastry-board; “do the best you can, Rosy, and then let it go.”
Rosy turned her little anxious face toward her mother, and smiled. “Anyway, this company is to be nice, and the things will be nice, too, I guess, ma.”
“We’ll try to make ’em so,” declared her mother, energetically stirring up her mince-meat in the stone jar.
“What will Miss Clorinda say to see the goose that I’m going to roast all myself?” cried Rosy, deserting her mush-kettle, to go over with this important question to the baking-table. “Say, ma?”
“I’m sure I don’t know!” cried Mrs. Brimmer, with pride. “She’ll say, ‘Was there ever such a goose!’ like as not, though, Rosy.”
“Do you suppose she really will!” cried the girl in delight, the color coming into her cheeks. When she looked like this, the boys, her brothers Jack and Cornelius, always called her “Wild Rose,” and it was their secret delight to summon the lovely bloom in as many startling ways as they could.