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Updated: June 24, 2025
"Well," said Aunt Ruey, drawing a sigh which caused her plump proportions to be agitated in gentle waves, "'tain't much matter, after all, what they call the little thing, for 'tain't 'tall likely it's goin' to live, cried and worried all night, and kep' a-suckin' my cheek and my night-gown, poor little thing! This 'ere's a baby that won't get along without its mother.
Besides, Philip could not go to visit them this winter, and how delighted they would be to have her come and break up the monotony of their lives. She glanced at the clock; only six o'clock; she would have ample time to get ready for the eight o'clock train, the dress she had on would do to travel in just slip her black cashmere into her satchel, and she was ready. Yes, she would go. Artful Ruey!
So the muffins and lilies were laid, peace offerings on the domestic altar, and the skies were clear again. The next morning Ruey betook herself to her neat little kitchen to reconstruct those cakes. She would see if it were not possible to suit her husband in this. "Let me see, he said they were too thick; I will thin them then.
"This is a pretty self-willed youngster," said Miss Ruey, as they rose from the exercises, "and I shouldn't think he'd been used to religious privileges." "Perhaps not," said Zephaniah Pennel; "but who can say but what this providence is a message of the Lord to us such as Pharaoh's daughter sent about Moses, 'Take this child, and bring him up for me'?"
Thorne had said the day before, "What if we have some buckwheat cakes?" that Ruey did not feel all the confidence in her ability that her answer implied; but then there was her receipt-book; "they could not be difficult," she reasoned. The receipt said: "Mix warm water, flour and yeast, and let rise until morning," these instructions she had faithfully followed, and here was the result.
"Well, though, you mus'n't think of goin' till you've had a cup of tea," said Aunt Ruey, wiping her eyes. "I've kep' the tea-pot hot by the fire, and you must eat a little somethin', for it's long past dinner-time." "Is it?" said Mara. "I had no idea I had slept so long how thoughtful and kind you are!" "I do wish I could only do more for you," said Miss Ruey.
"Ruey, do hush up," said Miss Roxy, frowning sternly down from under the shadow of a preternatural black straw bonnet, trimmed with huge bows of black ribbon, which head-piece sat above her curls like a helmet. "Don't be a-gettin' sentimental, Ruey, whatever else you get and talkin' like Miss Emily Sewell about match-makin'; I can't stand it; it rises on my stomach, such talk does.
"What made them sour?" "They stood too long after they got light, before they were baked. Very likely they would have raised in time, if you had left them on the table, say." "What do you do when they are sour?" asked Ruey. "Put in a little soda." "I did. I put soda in, and you never saw such looking things as they were, yellow and spotted, and ugh! how they tasted.
"The Cap'n puts me in mind of old Cap'n Jeduth Scranton," said Miss Ruey, "that built that queer house down by Middle Bay.
The tune was called "Invitation," one of those profusely florid in runs, and trills, and quavers, which delighted the ears of a former generation; and Miss Ruey, innocently unconscious of the effect of old age on her voice, ran them up and down, and out and in, in a way that would have made a laugh, had there been anybody there to notice or to laugh.
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