I've looked every-where. Mother, can't I
have one of Ester's cookies? I'm awful hungry."
"Why, I guess so, if you are really suffering. Try again for the
hammer, my boy; don't let a poor little hammer get the better of you."
"Well," said Alfred, "I won't," meaning that it should answer the
latter part of the sentence; and seizing a cookie he bestowed a
triumphant look upon Ester and a loving one upon his mother, and
vanished amid a renewal of the whistle and bang.
This little scene did not serve to help Ester; she rolled away
vigorously at the dough, but felt some way disturbed and outraged, and
finally gave vent to her feeling in a peremptory order.
"Julia, don't eat another raisin; you've made away with about half of
them now."
Julia looked aggrieved. "Mother lets me eat raisins when I pick them
over for her," was her defense; to which she received no other reply
than--
"Keep your elbows off the table."
Then there was silence and industry for some minutes. Presently Julia
recovered her composure, and commenced with--
"Say, Ester, what makes you prick little holes all over your
biscuits?"
"To make them rise better."
"Does every thing rise better after it is pricked?"
Sadie was paring apples at the end table, and interposed at this
point--
"If you find that to be the case, Julia, you must be very careful
after this, or we shall have Ester pricking you when you don't 'rise'
in time for breakfast in the morning.
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