best receipt, baked in a well-regulated oven, and gratefully eaten with a temperate appetite."
"Good! good!" cried Tom, applauding with the wooden spoon, "That's a model sermon, Polly,—short, sweet, sensible, and not a bit sleepy. I'm one of your parish, and will see that you get your 'celery punctooal,' as old Deacon Morse used to say."
"'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.
