What a supper it was! Well worth waiting for, Morton thought, for the
queer foreign-spiced preserves and the hot pickles (which made Molly
wink tearful eyes rapidly, and say, "No more, thank you, ma'am!" with
great promptness) were all there; besides dainty cakes, such as only
Hester could make, and tea that was to the common beverage as nectar to
vinegar.

Once Molly paused, inspecting a small cream-cake in her hand with a
grave air.

"What is it, dear? What are you thinking?" asked Miss Prue, to whom the
child was always a whole page of fun and epigram.

"I was thinking, ma'am, how does this froth get inside the cake?"

"Molly, Molly! You are too curious," said her sister.

But now an idea suddenly struck the child, rippling and dimpling over
her bright face like a breeze over a little lake.

"Oh, I know!" she cried, "I know! You just churn the cream, and then
pour the dough around it, of course!" which lucid explanation seemed
perfectly satisfactory to herself at any rate.

All the stiffness of that first half-hour was now gone, and the rest of
the stay was one riotous frolic, in which baby Ned, sweetened by a long
nap and a good supper in Sara's arms, joined merrily; and, as Miss Prue
watched the little party leave her gate in the late dusk, it was through
misty eyes, for she could not help thinking of the home she might have