"Well, Molly, you'll have to slice the potatoes then."

"Of course I will; where's the knife?" whirling about over the thickly
strewn floor, glad of any change from what was becoming a wearisome and
fruitless task.

"Molly! Molly! You're making everything fly! Do be more careful!"

"Yes'm," dropping suddenly into a ludicrous imitation of the waddle of a
goose; "I'll stop flying, and paddle."

"You need a paddle!" muttered Morton, contemptuous of such antics; and
he proceeded to stuff the rubbish into the chimney-place, adding a light
stick or two.

Soon there was a leaping blaze under the squat black kettle, which the
boy watched with satisfaction.

"There!" he said, "we won't have to look those over again. Why, what's
baby got? It looks just like a wad of tobacco. Here, Neddie! Neddie!
don't put that in your mouth; give it to brother, quick!"

But master baby had no idea of giving up his treasure-trove, and
resisted so stoutly that a regular scramble ensued. For his dimpled
fingers were shut so tightly over the wad that Morton could not at first
undo them, and the baby, wrenching his hand away, crept rapidly to Sara,
half crying, half laughing, then, with a sudden thought, turned when in
front of the fireplace, and with a wild little giggle of mischief and
rebellion tossed the thing into the very midst of the blaze.