I can make 'em just about the same as
mother did. I'll be bound you've thought of some old-fashioned dish
that you'd relish for your supper."
"Rye drop-cakes, then, if they wouldn't give you too much trouble,"
answered the Honorable Joseph, with prompt seriousness, "and don't
forget some cheese." He looked up at his old playfellow as she stood
beside him, eager with affectionate hospitality.
"You've no idea what a comfort Marilla's been," she stopped to
whisper. "Always took right hold and helped me when she was a baby.
She's as good as made up already to me for my having no daughter. I
want you to get acquainted with Marilla."
The granddaughter was still awed and anxious about the entertainment
of so distinguished a guest when her grandmother appeared at last in
the pantry.
"I ain't goin' to let you do no such a thing, darlin'," said Abby
Hender, when Marilla spoke of making something that she called "fairy
gems" for tea, after a new and essentially feminine recipe. "You just
let me get supper to-night. The Gen'ral has enough kickshaws to eat;
he wants a good, hearty, old-fashioned supper,--the same country
cooking he remembers when he was a boy. He went so far himself as to
speak of rye drop-cakes, an' there ain't one in a hundred, nowadays,
knows how to make the kind he means. You go an' lay the table just as
we always have it, except you can get out them old big sprigged cups
o' my mother's. Don't put on none o' the parlor cluset things.
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