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Updated: May 2, 2025
"Take her some cookies," said Nora, filling his pockets. The children laughed at the top of their voices. "Yes, take some cookies to the fairy. But you can eat them yourself and pretend it is the fairy eating them," they cried. Nora laughed with them, and so after a minute Eric joined in. But he and Nora looked at each other through their laughter and nodded understanding.
There was a generous square of home-made butter, a platter of home-cured ham or sausage, a dish of fried or creamed potatoes, a smaller dish of pickles or beets, and occasionally a dome of glistening cup cheese. The meal would have been considered incomplete without a liberal supply of cake or cookies, coffee in huge cups and yellow cream in an old-fashioned blue pitcher.
How sweet it was to the pale and weary women after their long imprisonment! As Lyman sat down on his maple log to hear better, a plump face appeared at the window, and a clear, girl-voice said: "Smell anything, Lime?" He snuffed the air. "Cookies, by the great horn spoons!" he yelled, leaping up. "Bring me some, an' see me eat; it'll do ye good." "Come an' get 'm," laughed the face at the window.
With the cloth laid, and the bread cut and covered with a napkin, and the sauce in the glass bowl, and the cookies on a blue plate, and the potatoes doing very, very slowly, and the kettle steaming with a Peerybingle cheerfulness, Fanny would stroll out to the front porch again to watch for the familiar figure to appear around the corner of Norris Street.
Her gingerbread was better than anybody's; but there was no comfort in standing, first on one foot and then on the other, while you made up your mind the horses were spirited and you could eat them a leg at a time, but there was more in the cookies she bent such a look on you, so fierce and intolerant of vacillation.
There was a luncheon party at the Cairns mansion, and when the butler brought in the plate of cookies and the doughnuts and delivered the message, trying his best not to smile, Mrs. Cairns looked at them in dismay. "What did you say, John?" "Miss Doane sent them to you with her love. She said that it was her baking day, and that she had made them herself.
He knew Pat would be busy till the two evening trains had arrived, after that if he did not come there would likely be no calls before morning again, and he could go on his way. With a pleasant snack of sugar cookies and cream puffs he lay back and closed his eyes, glad of this brief respite from his life of care and perplexity.
It it's sour like lemons!" cried Sue. "Yes, it is sour!" said Mr. Brown. "But that is why I like it." "I like molasses cookies better," said Sue, as she took a bite from one to cleanse away the sour taste in her mouth. "You can make just as good cookies as my mother or my Aunt Lu can," said Sue to Mrs. Trimble. "Can I? I'm glad to hear that," said the farmer's wife, with a smile.
"Don't walk, Bertrand; take the carryall, and these can be put under the seat. Boys, if you'll go back there in the garden, you'll find some more apples, and I'll fetch you out some cookies to go with them." The boys briskly departed. "I don't want Betty to see them, and we'll be silent until we know what to tell her," Mary added, as they walked slowly up the front path.
Sometimes he would bring over to Woodchuck Lodge from the homestead a cake of maple sugar from the veteran trees, and some of the maple-sugar cookies such as his mother used to make; though he eats sparingly of sweets nowadays.
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