” ‘Thank you, brother, my wants is few, and ravens scurser than
they used to be,’ as dear old Parson Miller used to answer. Now,
Maud, bring on the citron;” and Polly began to put the cake
together in what seemed a most careless and chaotic manner,
while Tom and Maud watched with absorbing interest till it was
safely in the oven.
“Now make your custards, dear; Tom may like to beat the eggs for
you; it seems to have a good effect upon his constitution.”
“First-rate; hand ’em along,” and Tom smoothed his apron with a
cheerful air. “By the way, Syd’s got back. I met him yesterday, and
he treated me like a man and a brother,” he added, as if anxious to
contribute to the pleasures of the hour.
“I ‘m so glad!” cried Polly, clapping her hands, regardless of the
egg she held, which dropped and smashed on the floor at her feet.
“Careless thing! Pick it up, Maud, I ‘ll get some more;” and Polly
whisked out of the room, glad of an excuse to run and tell Fan,
who had just come in, lest, hearing the news in public, she might
be startled out of the well-bred composure with which young
ladies are expected to receive tidings, even of the most vital
importance.
“You know all about history, don’t you?” asked Maud, suddenly.
“Not quite,” modestly answered Tom.
“I just want to know if there really was a man named Sir Philip, in
the time of Queen Elizabeth.”
“You mean Sir Philip Sidney? Yes, he lived then and a fine old
fellow he was too.”
“There; I knew the girls did n’t mean him,” cried Maud, with a
chop that sent the citron flying.
“What mischief are you up to now, you little magpie?”
“I shan’t tell you what they said, because I don’t remember much of
it; but I heard Polly and Fan talking about some one dreadful
mysterious, and when I asked who it was, Fan said,’Sir Philip.’ Ho!
she need n’t think I believe it! I saw ’em laugh, and blush, and poke
one another, and I knew it was n’t about any old Queen Elizabeth
man,” cried Maud, turning up her nose as far as that somewhat
limited feature would go.
“Look here, you are letting cats out of the bag. Never mind, I
thought so. They don’t tell us their secrets, but we are so sharp, we
can’t help finding them out, can we?” said Tom, looking so much
interested, that Maud could n’t resist airing her knowledge a little.
“Well, I dare say, it is n’t proper for you to know, but I am old
enough now to be told anything, and those girls better mind what
they say, for I ‘m not a stupid chit, like Blanche. I just wish you
could have heard them go on. I ‘m sure there ‘s something very nice
about Mr. Sydney, they looked so pleased when they whispered
and giggled on the bed, and thought I was ripping bonnets, and did
n’t hear a word.”
“Which looked most pleased?” asked Tom, investigating the
kitchen boiler with deep interest.
“Well, ‘pears to me Polly did; she talked most, and looked funny
and very happy all the time. Fan laughed a good deal, but I guess
Polly is the loveress,” replied Maud, after a moment’s reflection.
“Hold your tongue; she ‘s coming!” and Tom began to pump as if
the house was on fire.
Down came Polly, with heightened color, bright eyes, and not a
single egg. Tom took a quick look at her over his shoulder, and
paused as if the fire was suddenly extinguished. Something in his
face made Polly feel a little guilty, so she fell to grating nutmeg,
with a vigor which made red cheeks the most natural thing in life.
Maud, the traitor, sat demurely at work, looking very like what
Tom had called her, a magpie with mischief in its head. Polly felt a
change in the atmosphere, but merely thought Tom was tired, so
she graciously dismissed him with a stick of cinnamon, as she had
nothing else just then to lay upon the shrine. “Fan’s got the books