“Those were the most economical pies I ever made,” said Mrs. Brimmer, laughing, “they last so long.”
“I’m going to pretend,” said Corny, nailing away vigorously on his mother’s washboard, which a rainy day had allowed him to mend, “that we’re going to have some more on Christmas.”
“Better not,” said Mother Brimmer wisely, “for you’re not going to, and when the time comes you’ll be disappointed.”
“No, I sha’n’t, Mamsie,” said Cornelius decidedly, “’cause I know you aren’t going to make any. But I remember just how they tasted, and when I’m pretending we can have ’em all over again, it’s ’most as good as eating any.”
“It’s a very cheap way of getting a nice dish,” said Mrs. Brimmer, cutting up her meat for the stew, “but I don’t think sham pies are as good as the plain boiled dinner we’re going to have Christmas.”
Cornelius pounded away a few moments in silence; then he said, “I suppose we ought to do something for Christmas; that don’t take money, I mean,” with an anxious glance at his mother.
“Well, now, children,” said Mrs. Brimmer, neatly dividing an obdurate joint, “there, that’s done. I’ve been thinking about Christmas, and a plan has come to me.”
“Don’t tell till Jack comes,” cried Rosalie, over in the corner busy with her ironing holders. “O, Mamsie, do wait!” she begged in alarm.
“Jack knows about it,” said Mrs. Brimmer; “he and I talked it all over the night you two went to singing-school. And he wanted me to tell you both as soon as I could get a good chance. Now’s the time, I think, seeing Roly Poly is having her nap, and we three are all quiet together.”
“O, Mamsie! what is it?” cried Rosy breathlessly; and, dropping her sewing, she ran up to her mother’s side, Cornelius also deserting his washboard.