"
"They haven't gone to sleep," said Peletiah, who was always literal; and
setting down his plate, half-dried, on the table, he turned over one arm to
investigate.
"Of course not, you little ninny," said Rachel lightly. "I didn't----"
"Rachel, Rachel!" said the parson's wife, over by the table. She was
getting her material together for baking pies, and she now added gently,
"We don't call each other names, you must remember that, child."
"Oh!" said Rachel. She stopped her busy towel a minute to think, then it
flapped harder and faster, to make up for lost time.
"Well, go ahead," she said to Peletiah, "and wipe your plate."
So Peletiah, letting his elbows take care of themselves, picked up his
plate and set to work on its surface again; and pretty soon the dishes were
all declared done, the pan and mop washed out, and hung up.
"What'll I do next?" Rachel smoothed down her apron and stood before the
baking-table, a boy on either side.
"Now, boys," said Mrs. Henderson, pausing in her work of rolling out the
pie crust, "I think you had better take Rachel down to see Grandma Bascom.
I've told her she's coming to-day, and she's quite impatient to see her.
And, Rachel, you can tell her about Mrs. Fisher and Polly and the boys. And
oh, Rachel, be sure to tell her about Phronsie; she does just love that
child so!"
The parson's wife leaned on the rolling-pin, and a bright color came into
her face.
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