anxiously, "for Polly dearly loves plums."

"It shall be that plummy," said Jefferson convincingly, "that you'd
think you never saw such a one for richness. Oh, my! what a pie that
shall be!" exclaimed the cook, shutting up one eye to look through the
other in a spasm of delight at an imaginary pie; "so it's for Miss Mary,
is it?"

"Yes," said Phronsie, "it is. Oh, Jefferson, I'm so glad you like to
have me make one," she clasped her hands in silent rapture, and sat down
on the lowest stair to think it over a bit, Jefferson looking at her,
forgetful that the under cook was fuming in the deserted domains over
his delay to return. At last he said, bowing respectfully, "If you
please, Miss, it's about time to begin. Such a pie ain't done without a
deal of care, and we'd best have it a-baking as soon as may be."

"Yes," said Phronsie, getting off from her stair, and surrendering her
hand to his big black palm, "we ought to go right this very minute. But
I must get my apron on;" she stopped and looked down at her red dress.

"Oh! you can take one of my aprons," said the cook, "they're as fine,
and big, and white, and I'll just put you in one of 'em and tie you up
as snug; you'll come out as clean and sweet when we're through, as you
are now, Miss."

"Tie me up?" laughed Phronsie in glee. "Oh! how nice, Jefferson. Do you
know I love you very much, Jefferson, you're so very good to me?"

The big fellow drew a long breath. "No, Miss, I'm big and black, and
just fit to stay downstairs," he managed to say.