"Course they will."
"Pen! Penelope Farnham! Look out for those cakes."
"I'm turning 'em, aunt Judith. I'm doing 'em splendidly.—Susie, some of your sausages are a'most done. Let me take 'em out for you."
"No, Pen: I want to cook them all myself. You 'tend to your cakes."
Buckwheat-cakes and home-made sausages,—what a breakfast that was for a frosty morning!
Susie Hudson was puzzled to say which she enjoyed most,—the cooking or the eating; and she certainly did her share of both very well for a young lady of sixteen from the great city.
"Port, can you shoot?" asked Corry a little suddenly at table.
"Shoot! I should say so. Do you ever get any thing bigger than rabbits out here?"
"Didn't you know? Why, right back from where we're going this morning are the mountains. Not a farm till you get away out into the St. Lawrence-river country."
"Yes, I know all that."