The rain-pools in the road glittered, and she
noticed a cherry-tree in blossom. When she reached home Serena met her
at the door.
"Oh, Ruth Whitman!" she cried, "we have had such a time!"
Ruth stared. "What do you mean?" said she. "Where are the Wigginses?"
"They've gone. Mrs. Wiggins and old Mrs. Wiggins were dreadful mad. Oh,
Ruth, you didn't do it on purpose, did you?"
"Do what on purpose?" said Ruth, pushing into the house, and looking
around the empty kitchen in a bewildered way. "I don't know what you
mean."
"Don't you know what you put into that parsnip stew?"
"No; I don't know of anything I put in but some salt, just before I went
to school; mother told me to. Why?"
"Oh, Ruth, you put in--saleratus!"
"I don't believe it."
Ruth flew into the pantry, and came out with a cracked blue cup. "Here,"
said she--"here's the salt-cup, and this is the one I got it out of, I
know."
"Taste of it," said Serena, solemnly.
Ruth tasted. "It _is_ saleratus," said she, looking at her sister in
horror. "Did it spoil the stew?"
"It was--dreadful."
"I don't see how it happened," Ruth said, slowly, puckering her
forehead, "unless mother dipped out some saleratus in the salt-cup to
bring out in the kitchen when she mixed the sour-milk cakes for
breakfast. I don't know anything about it, true's I live and breathe. I
hope they didn't think I did such a mean thing as that on purpose.
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