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. Dorcas raised her shrill
voice pretty high, and Grandma, though she had been innocent of the
whole transaction, was so blamed that she gave Dorcas a piece of her
mind at last. Ann surveyed the nice brown loaves, and listened to the
talk in secret satisfaction; but she had to suffer for it afterward.
Grandma punished her for the first time, and she discovered that that
kind old hand was pretty firm and strong. "No matter what you think
or whether you air in the rights on't, or not, a little gal mustn't
ever sass her elders," said Grandma.

But if Ann's interference was blamable, it was productive of one good
result--the matter came to Mr. Atherton's ears, and he had a stern
sense of justice when roused, and a great veneration for his mother.
His father's will should be carried out to the letter, he declared;
and it was. Grandma baked and boiled in peace, outwardly, at least,