"The land's sakes 'tis!" cried Mrs. Bascom, delightedly; "you don't say so!""Yes," said Polly, skipping around the old lady, and giving her a small hug; "and we're going to give her a surprise.""What is the matter with her eyes?" asked grandma, sharply, turning around and facing her; "she's been a-sewin' too stiddy, hain't she?""A surprise!" shouted Polly, standing upon tiptoe, to bring her mouth on a level with the old lady's ear; "a cake, grandma, a big one!""A cake!" exclaimed grandma, dropping the broom to settle her cap, which Polly in her extreme endeavors to carry on the conversation, had knocked slightly awry; "well, that'll be fine.""Yes," said Polly, picking up the broom, and ffinging off her hood at the same time; "and, oh! won't you please tell me how to make it, grandma!""To be sure; to be sure;" cried the old lady, delighted beyond measure to give advice; "I've got splendid receets; I'll go get 'em right off," and she ambled to the door of the pantry.
"And I'll finish sweeping up," said Polly, which grandma didn't hear; so she took up the broom, and sent it energetically, and merrily flying away to the tune of her own happy thoughts.
"Yes, they're right in here," said grandma, waddling back with an old tin teapot in her hand;--"goodness, child! what a dust you've kicked up! that ain't the way to sweep." And she took the broom out of Polly's hand, who stood quite still in mortification.
"There," she said, drawing it mildly over the few bits she could scrape together, and gently coaxing them into a little heap; "that's the way; and then they don't go all over the room.
"I'm sorry," began poor Polly.
"'Tain't any matter," said Mrs. Bascom kindly, catching sight of Polly's discomfited face; "tain't a mite of matter; you'll sweep better next time; now let's go to the cake;" and putting the broom into the corner, she waddled back again to the table, followed by Polly, and proceeded to turn out the contents of the teapot, in search of just the right "receet."But the right one didn't seem to appear; not even after the teapot was turned upside down and shaken by both grandma's and Polly's anxious hands. Every other "receet" seemed to tumble out gladly, and stare them in the face--little dingy rolls of yellow paper, with an ancient odor of spice still clinging to them; but all efforts to find this particular one failed utterly.
"Won't some other one do?" asked Polly, in the interval of fruitless searching, when grandma bewailed and lamented, and wondered, "where I could a put it!""No, no, child," answered the old lady; "now, where do you s'pose 'tis!" and she clapped both hands to her head, to see if she could possibly remember; "no, no, child," she repeated. "Why, thcy had it down to my niece Mirandy's weddin'--'twas just elegant! light as a feather; and 'twan't rich either," she added; "no eggs, nor"-- "Oh, Icouldn't have eggs;" cried Polly, in amazement at the thought of such luxury; "and we've only brown flour, grandma, you know.""Well, you can make it of brown," said Mrs. Bascom, kindly;"when the raisins is in 'twill look quite nice.""Oh, we haven't any raisins," answered Polly.
"Haven't any raisins!" echoed grandma, looking at her over her spectacles; "what are you goin' to put in?""Oh--cinnamon," said Polly, briskly; "we've got plenty of that, and--it'll be good, I guess, grandma!" she finished, anxiously;"anyway, we must have a cake; there isn't any other way to celebrate mamsie's birthday.""Well, now," said grandma, bustling around; "I shouldn't be surprised if you had real good luck, Polly. And your ma'll set ever so much by it; now, if we only could find that receet!" and returning to the charge she commenced to fumble among her bits of paper again; "I never shall forget how they eat on it; why, there wasn't a crumb left, Polly!""Oh, dear," said Polly, to whom "Mirandy's wedding cake" now became the height of her desires; "if you only can find it! can't Iclimb up and look on the pantry shelves?"
"Maybe 'tis there," said Mrs. Bascom, slowly; "you might try;sometimes I do put things away, so's to have 'em safe."So Polly got an old wooden chair, according to direction, and then mounted up on it, with grandma below to direct, she handed down bowl after bowl, interspersed at the right intervals with cracked teacups and handleless pitchers. But at the end of these explorations, "Mirandy's wedding cake" was further off than ever.
"Tain't a mite o' use," at last said the old lady, sinking down in despair, while Polly perched on the top of the chair and looked at her; "I must a-give it away.""Can't I have the next best one, then?" asked Polly, despairingly, feeling sure that "Mirandy's wedding cake" would have celebrated the day just right; "and I must hurry right home, please," she added, getting down from the chair, and tying on her hood; "or Phronsie won't know what to do."So another "receet" was looked over, and selected; and with many charges, and bits of advice not to let the oven get too hot, etc., etc., Polly took the precious bit in her hand, and flew over home.
"Now, we've got to--" she began, bounding in merrily, with dancing eyes; but her delight had a sudden stop, as she brought up so suddenly at the sight within, that she couldn't utter another word. Phronsie was crouching, a miserable little heap of woe, in one corner of the mother's big calico-covered rocking-chair, and crying bitterly, while Joel hung over her in the utmost concern.
"What's the matter?" gasped Polly. Flinging the "receet" on the table, she rushed up to the old chair and was down on her knees before it, her arms around the little figure. Phronsie turned, and threw herself into Polly's protecting arms, who gathered her up, and sitting down in the depths of the chair, comforted her as only she could.
"What is it?" she asked of Joel, who was nervously begging Phronsie not to cry; "now, tell me all that's happened.""I was a-nailing," began Joel; "oh dear! don't cry, Phronsie! do stop her, Polly.""Go on," said Polly, hoarsely.
