Just think, and oh, I do believe we shall make lots and lots of
money! Give my love to dear, dear Grandma Bascom, and please read this
letter to her. From your loving little friend, Polly.'"
Peletiah, considering it better to read this all as one sentence, had
droned it out without a break, to look up and find Grandma sunken back
against her chair, her cap frills trembling with indignation.
"I hain't heard a single word," she said, "an' there's that blessed child
got hurt, an' I can't seem to sense it at all."
"She ain't hurt, Polly ain't," said Peletiah, stoutly defending himself.
"They're going to have a garden party."
"A what?" screamed Grandma.
"A _garden_ party."
"Oh, then she fell in the garding, an' you said cellar stairs," she cried
reproachfully.
Peletiah looked at her long; then he got out of his chair and leaned over
her.
"My Aunt Jerusha fell," he screamed, so loud that Grandma started.
"Oh, an' the Pepper children ain't hurt?" she cried, in great relief.
"No, they're going to have a party." He wisely left out the garden this
time.
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Grandma, greatly pleased at the hint of any
festivities, no matter how distant, and the smiles began to run all over
her wrinkled face again. "I wonder now," she said, "if they don't want my
receet for Cousin Mirandy's weddin' cake; it's in th' Bible there"--nodding
over to the little stand.
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