Part 8 (2/2)
”This is my cousin Dotty Dimple, girls; the handsomest of the family; but not the best one--are you, though?” at the same time giving Miss Dimple a chair.
”How d'ye, miss?” said Phebe, mournfully.
Katinka said nothing, but patted the letter O on the right side of her head.
”O, Phib, my mother says if you are not too tired, you may make some candy; she said so, candidly.”
Horace was just old enough to delight in puns.
Now, this was a pleasant message to Phebe; she would have been glad to keep her fingers in mola.s.ses half the time. Still it seemed to Dotty, as she saw the rolling of the black eyes, that Phebe was quite discouraged.
”I s'pose she doesn't like candy,” thought she; ”I heard of a girl once that didn't.”
Rolling her sad eyes again and again, Phebe went to draw the mola.s.ses, and soon had it boiling on the stove.
”There,” said Horace, rubbing his hands, ”I told Dotty if anybody knew how to make candy 'twas Phebe Dolan. Give us the nut-cracker, and I'll have the pecans ready in no time.”
This time Phebe's eyes twinkled. As soon as the mola.s.ses would pour from the spoon in just the right way, with little films like spiders' webs floating from it, then Phebe said it was done, and Horace called Grace and Ca.s.sy. Phebe stirred in some soda with an air of solemnity, then poured half the contents of the kettle into a b.u.t.tered platter, and the other half into a second platter lined with pecan-meats. Then she took the whole out of doors to cool.
”I'll tell you what I'm thinking about,” said Dotty, as the girl left the room;--”what has she got on her head?”
”Why, hair, to be sure,” replied Grace.
”Wool, I should call it,” corrected Horace.
”Because I didn't know,” faltered Dotty,--”I didn't know but 'twas a wig.”
”What made you think 'twas a wig, Dotty?”
”O, there was a man wore one in the cars; it looked just like anybody's hair, only he tied it on with a b.u.t.ton. He knew you and Horace.”
”Me and Horace? Who could it have been?”
”He's the major; his name is Lazelle.”
”O, I remember him,” said Grace and Horace together. ”Does he wear a wig? He isn't old at all.”
”He _calls_ himself 'an old mustache,'” returned Dotty, ”for he said so to me. He wears one of those _hair-lips_, and a wig.”
”And he's as blind as a post?”
”O, no, he can see things now. I liked him, for he gave me all the apples and peaches I could eat.”
”I reckon it did him good to go to the war,” exclaimed Horace, ”for I remember, when I was a little fellow, how he boxed my ears!”
”He has suffered a great deal since then,” said the gentle Ca.s.sy, thoughtfully. ”You know people generally grow better by suffering.”
”Dotty dear, you can't keep your eyes open,” said Grace, after the candy had been pulled. ”I don't believe it will make _you_ any better to suffer. I'm going to put you to bed.”
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