"
The Whitmans kept bees, and their honey was the celebrated luxury of the
neighborhood. Ruth got a jar of clear white honey out of the closet, put
it under her shawl, and was off. First, though, she instructed Serena to
go out in the garden and dig a good supply of parsnips and clean them
for the next day's dinner.
It was a mile to the Wigginses', and it took Ruth over an hour to
accomplish her errand and return. When she got home she found Serena
getting supper, and her father was washing his hands out in the shed;
her mother had not returned. On the kitchen sink lay a tin pan with four
or five muddy parsnips. Serena looked up eagerly when her sister
entered. "They coming?" said she.
"Yes, they are," replied Ruth, with a triumphant smile.
But Serena walked over to the sink and extended her arm with a tragical
gesture towards the parsnips. "Well, you've gone and done it now, Ruth
Whitman," said she. "There's every single parsnip that's fit to eat that
I could find in the garden."
"H'm! I guess I can find some."
"No, you can't; they've rotted. I heard mother say to-day she was afraid
they had. More'n half those father brought in this morning weren't good
for anything. When mother finds out that all the Wigginses are coming,
and there's just five parsnips for dinner, I don't know what she will
do; I don't know but it will kill her. And she's asked Uncle Caleb and
Uncle Silas over, too.
Pages:
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150