. . . Oh, any little thing, a boiled ham or
- . . . Well, we shall want some cake, but we'd druther - or, at
least, rawther - have something more substantial, don't you know,
pie or pickles or jelly, don't you know. And will you bring it
or shall I send Michael with the carriage for it? . . . . Oh,
thank you! If you would. It would be so much appreciated. So
sorry we couldn't make a longer stay, but now that we've found
the way . . . . Yes, that's very true. Well, good-afternoon."
The lady of the house watches them as Michael inquires: "Whur
next, mum?" and bangs the door of the carriage. Then she turns
and says to herself: "Huh!" Mrs. Thorpe is that instant observing:
"Did you notice that crayon enlargement she had hanging up?
Wouldn't it kill you?" To which the other lady responds: "Well,
between you and I, Mrs. Thorpe, if I couldn't have a real
hand-painted picture I wouldn't have nothing at all."
The lady of the house bakes a cake. She'll show them a thing or
two in the cake line. And while it is in the oven what does that
little dev -, that provoking Freddie, do but see if he can't jump
across the kitchen in two jumps. Fall? What cake wouldn't fall?
Of course it falls. But it is too late now to bake another, and if
they don't like it, they know what they can do.
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