"Ugh!" cried Joel, seizing the first thing on the table that caught his
eye. It proved to be the salt-cellar, and he rushed up and presented it
with a flourish.
"Ho, ho!" exploded Frick, as the little knot of boys parted in the middle,
"why we've only got her a napkin and a plate."
Joel glanced down ruefully at the salt-cellar in his hand, and was going to
beat a retreat with it, quite crestfallen.
"Thank you, Joel; I shall want it pretty soon," said Mrs. Sterling, smiling
into his red face. "There, we'll put it on the table"--for Mrs. Gibson had
been busy drawing up a light stand to the side of the sofa--"and will you
bring me some cold chicken?"
"Me?" cried Joel, perfectly radiant, but scarcely believing that he could
be meant, after his awkwardness.
"Yes, you," said Mrs. Sterling, laughing; "so hurry, and get it, Joel."
No need to tell him that. Joel sprang at the table again, bore off a plate
of the desired delicacy, and a spoonful of currant jelly by its side, and
flew back again.
"Is that right?" he asked anxiously, with a dreadful feeling that he ought
to have asked her if she wanted brown or white meat.
"How did you know I am very fond of white meat, Joel?" asked Mrs. Sterling.
"And above all things I like the wing."
"Do you?" cried Joel, in a transport. "Now what else?"
"Nothing now, and the next time, why, I must let Frick and some of the
other boys help me," said Mrs.
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