Mrs. Dorcas had taken Thirsey and stepped out somewhere, and
there was no one in the kitchen. Ann set the election cake back on
the table. Then, with the aid of the tongs, she reached into the
brick oven and took out every one of Mrs. Dorcas' pies and loaves.
Then she arranged them deliberately in a pitiful semicircle on the
hearth, and put Grandma's cookery in the oven.
She went back to the southwest room then, and sat quietly down to her
spinning. Grandma asked if she had put the things in, and she said
"Yes, ma'am," meekly. There was a bright red spot on each of her dark
cheeks.
When Mrs. Dorcas entered the kitchen, carrying Thirsey wrapped up in
an old homespun blanket, she nearly dropped as her gaze fell on the
fire-place and the hearth. There sat her bread and pies, in the most
lamentable half-baked, sticky, doughy condition imaginable. She
opened the oven, and peered in. There were Grandma's loaves, all a
lovely brown. Out they came, with a twitch. Luckily, they were done.
Her own went in, but they were irretrievable failures.
Of course, quite a commotion came from this.
Pages:
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40