much fun. Each mouthful was a pleasure; and when the last crumb had
vanished, Katy produced the second basket, and there, oh, delightful
surprise! were seven little pies--molasses pies, baked in saucers--each
with a brown top and crisp candified edge, which tasted like toffy and
lemon-peel, and all sorts of good things mixed up together.

There was a general shout. Even demure Cecy was pleased, and Dorry and
John kicked their heels on the ground in a tumult of joy. Seven pairs of
hands were held out at once toward the basket; seven sets of teeth went
to work without a moment's delay. In an incredibly short time every
vestige of the pie had disappeared, and a blissful stickiness pervaded
the party.

"What shall we do now?" asked Clover, while little Phil tipped the
baskets upside down, as if to make sure there was nothing left that
could possibly be eaten.

"I don't know," replied Katy, dreamily. She had left her seat, and was
half-sitting, half-lying on the low, crooked bough of a butternut tree,
which hung almost over the children's heads.

"Let's play we're grown up," said Cecy, "and tell what we mean to do."

"Well," said Clover, "you begin. What do you mean to do?"

"I mean to have a black silk dress, and pink roses in my bonnet, and a
white muslin long-shawl," said Cecy; "and I mean to look _exactly_ like
Minerva Clark! I shall be very good, too; as good as Mrs. Bedell, only a
great deal prettier. All the young gentlemen will want me to go and
ride, but I shan't notice them at all, because you know I shall always