Five Little Peppers Midway

Margaret Sidney

Description

PHRONSIE'S PIE Jefferson, said Phronsie, with a grave uplifting of her eyebrows, I think I will go down into the kitchen and bake a pie; a very little pie, Jefferson. Bless you, Miss, replied the cook, showing his white teeth in glee, it is the making of the kitchen when you come it. Yes, Jefferson, said Phronsie slowly, I think I will go down make one. It must be very, very full of plums, you know, looking up at him anxiously, for Polly dearly loves plums. It shall be that plummy, said Jefferson convincingly, that you'd think you never saw such a one for richness. Oh, my! what a pie that shall be! exclaimed the cook, shutting up one eye to look through the other in a spasm of delight at an imaginary pie; so it's for Miss Mary, is it? Yes, said Phronsie, it is. Oh, Jefferson, I'm so glad you like to have me make one, she clasped her hands in silent rapture, and sat down on the lowest stair to think it over a bit, Jefferson looking at her, forgetful that the under cook was fuming in the deserted domains over his delay to return

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 23 octobre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819908579
• Langue: English

Extrait

I
P HRONSIE'S PIE"Jefferson," said Phronsie, with a grave uplifting of her eyebrows,"I think I will go down into the kitchen and bake a pie; a verylittle pie, Jefferson." "Bless you, Miss," replied the cook,showing his white teeth in glee, "it is the making of the kitchenwhen you come it." "Yes, Jefferson," said Phronsie slowly, "I thinkI will go down make one. It must be very, very full of plums, youknow," looking up at him anxiously, "for Polly dearly loves plums.""It shall be that plummy," said Jefferson convincingly, "that you'dthink you never saw such a one for richness. Oh, my! what a piethat shall be!" exclaimed the cook, shutting up one eye to lookthrough the other in a spasm of delight at an imaginary pie; "soit's for Miss Mary, is it?" "Yes," said Phronsie, "it is. Oh,Jefferson, I'm so glad you like to have me make one," she claspedher hands in silent rapture, and sat down on the lowest stair tothink it over a bit, Jefferson looking at her, forgetful that theunder cook was fuming in the deserted domains over his delay toreturn. At last he said, bowing respectfully, "If you please, Miss,it's about time to begin. Such a pie ain't done without a deal ofcare, and we'd best have it a-baking as soon as may be." "Yes,"said Phronsie, getting off from her stair, and surrendering herhand to his big black palm, "we ought to go right this very minute.But I must get my apron on;" she stopped and looked down at her reddress. "Oh! you can take one of my aprons," said the cook, "they'reas fine, and big, and white, and I'll just put you in one of 'emand tie you up as snug; you'll come out as clean and sweet whenwe're through, as you are now, Miss." "Tie me up?" laughed Phronsiein glee. "Oh! how nice, Jefferson. Do you know I love you verymuch, Jefferson, you're so very good to me?"
The big fellow drew a long breath. "No, Miss, I'mbig and black, and just fit to stay downstairs," he managed to say."But I love you better because you are black, Jefferson," insistedPhronsie, "a great deal better. You are not like everybody else,but you are just yourself," clinging to his hand. "Well, Miss, Iain't just fit for a lily to touch and that's the truth," lookingdown at his palm that the small white hand grasped closely. "It'sclean, Miss," he added with pardonable pride, "but it's awfulblack." "I like it better black, Jefferson," said Phronsie again,"really and truly I do, because then it's your very, very own," ina tone that thrilled him much as if a queen had knighted him on thespot.
This important declaration over, the two set forthon their way toward the kitchen, Phronsie clinging to his hand, andchatting merrily over the particular pie in prospect, with variedremarks on pies in general, that by and by would be ventured uponif this present one were a success – and very soon tied up in oneof the cook's whitest aprons she was seated with due solemnity atthe end of the baking table, the proper utensils and materials indelightful confusion before her, and the lower order of kitchensatellites revolving around her, and Jefferson the lesser sphere."Now all go back to your work," said that functionary when heconsidered the staring and muttered admiration had been indulged inlong enough, "and leave us." "I want you," said his assistant,touching his elbow. "Clear out," said Jefferson angrily, his faceturned quite from Phronsie.
But she caught the tone and immediately laid downthe bit of dough she was moulding. "Do go," she begged, "and comeback quickly," smiling up into his face. "See, I'm going to pat andpat and pat, oh! ever so much before you come back."
So Jefferson followed the under cook, the sculleryboy went back to cleaning the knives, Susan, the parlor maid whowas going through the kitchen with her dustpan and broom, hurriedoff with a backward glance or two, and Phronsie was left quitealone to hum her way along in her blissful culinary attempt. "Blessme!" exclaimed a voice close to her small ear, as she wasattempting for the fifth time to roll out the paste quite as thinas she had seen Jefferson do, "what is this? Bless my soul! it'sPhronsie!"
Phronsie set down the heavy rolling-pin and turnedin her chair with a gleeful laugh. "Dear, dear Grandpapa!" shecried, clasping her floury hands, "oh! I'm so glad you've come tosee me make a pie all by myself. It's for Polly, and it's to befull of plums; Jefferson let me make it." "Jefferson? And where ishe, pray?" cried Mr. King irately. "Pretty fellow, to bring youdown to these apartments, and then go off and forget you.Jefferson!" he called sharply, "here, where are you?" "Oh,Grandpapa!" exclaimed Phronsie in dire distress, "I sent him;Jefferson didn't want to go, Grandpapa dear, really and truly, hewent because I asked him." "If you please, sir," began Jefferson,hurrying up, "I only stepped off a bit to the cellar. Bassett sentdown a lot of turnips, they ain't first-rate, and" – "All right,"said Mr. King, cutting him short with a wave of his hand, "if MissPhronsie sent you off, it's all right; I don't want to hear anymore elaborate explanations." "Little Miss hasn't been alone but afew minutes," said Jefferson in a worried way. "And see," saidPhronsie, turning back to her efforts, while one hand grasped theold gentleman's palm, "I've almost got it to look like Jefferson's.Almost, haven't I?" she asked, regarding it anxiously. "It will bethe most beautiful pie," cried Mr. King, a hearty enthusiasmsucceeding his irritability, "that ever was baked. I wish you'dmake me one sometime, Phronsie." "Do you?" she cried in a tremor ofdelight, "and will you really have it on the table, and cut it withAunt Whitney's big silver knife?" "That I will," declared Mr. Kingsolemnly. "Then some day I'll come down here again, Jefferson,"cried Phronsie in a transport, "and bake one for my dear Grandpapa.That is, if this one is good. Oh! you do suppose it will be good,don't you?" appealingly at him. "It shall," said Jefferson stoutly,and seizing the rolling-pin with extreme determination. "You want abit more butter worked in, here," a dab with skillful fingers, anda little manipulation with the flour, a roll now and then mostdeftly, and the paste was laid out before Phronsie. "Now, Miss, youcan put it in the dish." "But is isn't my pie," said Phronsie, and,big girl as she felt herself to be, she sat back in her chair, herlower lip quivering. "Not your pie?" repeated the cook, bringinghimself up straight to gaze at her. "No," said Phronsie, shakingher yellow head gravely, "it isn't my pie now, Jefferson. You putin the things, and rolled it." "Leave your fingers off from it,can't you?" cried Mr. King sharply. "Goodness! this pie isn't tohave a professional touch about it. Get some more flour and stuff,whatever it is you make a pie of, and let her begin again. There,I'll sit down and watch you; then there'll be some chance of havingthings straight." So he drew up a chair to the side of the table,first calling off Pete, the scullery boy, from his knives to comeand wipe it off for him, and Mrs. Tucker who was in kitchen dialect"Tucker," to see that the boy did his work well. "Lor' bless you,sir," said Tucker, bestowing a final polish with her apron, "'twaslike satin before, sir – not a wisp of dust." "I don't want anyobservations from you," said the old gentleman, depositing himselfin the chair. "There, you can go back to your work, Mrs. Tucker,and you too, Pete. Now I'll see that this pie is to your liking,Phronsie."
But Phronsie still sat back in her chair,thoughtfully surveying Jefferson. "Grandpapa," she said at lastslowly, "I think I'd rather have the first pie, I really would,Grandpapa, may I?" She brought her yellow head forward by a suddenmovement, and looked deep into his keen eyes. "Bless my soul!Rather have the first pie?" repeated the old gentleman inastonishment, "why, I thought you wanted to make one all yourself.""I think I'd rather do part of it," said Phronsie with greatdeliberateness, "then Polly'll like it, and eat it, and I'll doyours, Grandpapa dear, just as Jefferson fixed mine, all alone.Please let me." She held him fast with her eyes, and waited for hisanswer. "So you shall!" cried Mr. King in great satisfaction, "makemine all alone. This one would better go as it is. Put away theflour and things, Jefferson; Miss Phronsie doesn't want them."
Phronsie gave a relieved little sigh. "And,Jefferson, if you hadn't showed me how, I couldn't ever in all thisworld make Grandpapa's. Now give me the little plate, do." "Here'tis, Miss," said the cook, all his tremor over the blunder he hadmade, disappearing, since, after all, things were quitesatisfactory. And the little plate forthcoming, Phronsie tuckedaway the paste lovingly in its depths, and began the important workof concocting the mixture with which the pie was to be filled, Mr.King sitting by with the gravity of a statue, even to thedeliberate placing of each plum. "Where's Phronsie?" called a voiceabove in one of the upper halls. "Oh! she's coming, Polly is!"cried Phronsie, deserting a plum thrust in endwise in the middle ofthe pie, to throw her little sticky fingers around Jefferson'sneck; "oh! do take off my apron; and let me go. She'll see my pie!""Stop!" cried Mr. King, getting up somewhat stiffly to his feet,"I'll take off the apron myself. There, Phronsie, there you are.Whew! how hot you keep your kitchen, Jefferson," and he wiped hisface. "Now we'll run," said Phronsie softly, "and not make a bit ofnoise, Grandpapa dear, and, Jefferson, please put on my top to thepie, and don't let it burn, and I'll come down very, very soonagain, and bake one all alone by myself for Grandpapa."
The old gentleman kept up very well with the softpatter of her feet till they reached the foot of the staircase."There, there, child," he said, "there's not the least need ofhurry now." "But she will come down," said Phronsie, in gentlehaste pulling at his hand, "then if she should see it, Grandpapa!""To be sure; that would indeed be dreadfu