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Updated: May 10, 2025
"Suppose we watch Sylvy make cake," said Dimple, when they had delivered their packages. "She always lets me watch her. And then we can scrape the bowl. Don't you like to?" "I never do at home," said Florence. "Our cook is so cross and mamma does not like me to go into the kitchen."
Well, you'll have his sofa, then; if I remember right, it's a better one than yours that you give Rose. Now, Sylvy Crane, you jest put on your hood an' shawl, an' come home with me, an' have some dinner. Have you got anything in the house to eat?" "I've got a few things," replied Sylvia, evasively. "What?" "Some potatoes an' apples." "Potatoes an' apples!" Hannah began to sob again.
"You may stop in the kitchen and get a turnover apiece for you three children. Tell Sylvy I said you might." "Oh, mamma, how dear you are," and the happy little face disappeared.
"Never mind, we'll put in some wood," concluded Dimple, cheerfully. "I've seen Sylvy do it lots of times, to hurry up the oven. Run, Bubbles, and get some wood. Then you can pare the apples, while I make the crust." "Let me pare the apples," suggested Florence; "it is such fun to put them on that little thing and turn the crank, while the skin comes off so easily."
"Land sakes!" said Hannah. The two women looked at each other. Suddenly Hannah threw out her arms from under her shawl, and clasped Sylvia. "Oh, Sylvy," she sobbed out, "to think you was settin' out for the poor-house this mornin', an' we havin' a weddin' last night, an' never knowin' it! Why didn't you say anythin' about it, why didn't you, Sylvy?" "I knew you couldn't do anything, Hannah."
"It's a-goin' to be some scaldin' to-day, Sylvy." The girl laughed. "Then when I carry the milk down cellar I shall stay there. It's so funny to have the cellar under the parlor as it is here." "'Tis out o' the common, but the ground was so shoal at the kitchen end it hed to be dug that way. Judge Trent hed that cellar made. I visited him once to Seaton. Did he ever tell ye?" "No."
Lem's information with scarcely a smile at its manner. "I tell you, though, money won't buy everything," went on the housekeeper, scalding a fresh panful of china. "Here's a fresh wiper, Miss Sylvy. Mr. Derwent's ben entirely incapacitated for business or pleasure for years. What good's his money to him?
"Is that you, Sylvy Crane?" said her sister, Hannah Berry. Sylvia did not stop. "Yes, it's me," she stammered. "Good-evenin', Hannah." She tried to pass, but Hannah stood in her way. "What you hurryin' so for?" she asked, sharply; "where you been?" "Where you been?" returned Sylvia, trembling. "Up to Sarah's. Charlotte, she's gone down to Rebecca's. She's terrible thick with Rebecca.
"Yuh ain't a-foolin' me, is yuh?" "No, of course not. I wouldn't be so mean as to fool you about such a thing. But mamma says you mustn't dawdle to-day. So hurry up and get those towels done. Sylvy is going to be awfully busy, so you'll have to help her, but we're going to clean the knives for you, and shell the peas. Bring them down to the little house; we're going down there.
"They'd better have been created slaves; they'd been enough sight happier an' better off, an' so would other folks that they have to do with, than to have so many ways, an' not sense enough to manage 'em. I don't believe in free-will, for my part." "Sylvy Crane, you ain't goin' to deny one of the doctrines of the Church at your time of life?" demanded a new voice.
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