ad eaten them. But bread _is_ better for me,
and--why! if she hasn't sent a whole dozen. One, two, three--yes, a
dozen, and one over, sure as I stand here. Now, that I call generous.
And, I'll tell you what, dearie! Don't say a word, for I wouldn't for
worlds have Tudie feel to think I was slighting her, or didn't
appreciate her kindness; but--well, I _have_ wanted to send some
little thing round to that little girl of Josiah Pincher's, that has
the measles, and I do suppose she'd be pleased to death with some of
these sponge-drops. Hush! don't say a word, Jenny! it would be a real
privilege to me, now it would. And you know it isn't that I don't
think the world of Tudie, and you, too; now, don't you?"

Jenny protested, half-laughing, and half-crying; for Tudie Peaslee had
declared herself ready to bet that Miss Peace would not eat a single
one of the sponge-drops, and Jenny had vowed she should. But would she
or would she not, before ten minutes were over she had promised to
leave the sponge-drops at the Pinchers' door as she went by, for
little Geneva. There was no resisting Miss Peace, Tudie was right; but
suddenly a bright idea struck Jenny, just as she was putting on her
hat and preparing to depart. Seizing one of the sponge-drops, she
broke off a bit, and fairly popped it into Miss Peace's mouth, as the
good lady was going to speak. "It's broke, now," she cried, in high
glee, "it's broke in two, and you can't give it to nobody. Set right
down, Miss Peace, and let me feed you, same as I do my canary bird."
She pushed the little dressmaker into a chair, and the bits followed
each other in such quick succession that Miss Peace could make no
protest beyond a smothered, "Oh, don't ye, dear; now don't! that's
enough!--my stars, Jenny, what do you think my mouth's made of?"
(Crunch!) "There, dear, there! It is real good--oh, dear! not so fast.
I _shall_ choke! Tell Tudie--no, dearie, not another morsel!"
(Crunch.) "Well, Jenny Miller, I didn't think you would act so, now I
didn't."

The sponge-cake was eaten, and Jenny, with a triumphant kiss on the
little rosy, withered-apple cheek, popped her head in at the parlour
door to cry, "Good day, Mis' Means!" and flew laughing away with her
victory and her cakes.

"Well, Anne Peace," was Mrs. Means's greeting, as her hostess came
back, looking flushed and guilty, and wiping her lips on her apron,
"how you can stand havin' that Miller girl round here passes me. She'd
be the