Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1871-04-28
Tie Leisure Hour.
POLLI"S PIES.

The clock struck three and like Il pune
tualFate, Polly, shovel in hand, flung wide
the open door. For hours had that mystic
laboratory been at work, unseen of mortal
eye, and the fragrance, compounded of
spice, of sugar, of crusted loaf, and savory
fowl, which now floated forth and filed
the kitchen, told the result. Far through
the house spread the delicious Whit, and a
stir and hustle overhead announced that
some one there recognized the signal and
knew the baking was done.
In and out travelled the busy shovel till
the inner depth, where yet a red glow lin
gered, was reached, gayeup its last treas
ure, and Polly, makinga fan of her apron,
stood before the table TO inspect the result.
There they were, ranged in order due, the
loaves brown and white, the rolls, the
cracking pork and beans, the election
cake" that difficult dainty, over whose
precarious fortunes she had watched till
midnight-the two-and-twenty pies, gold,
brown, and cranberry red, toothsome
mince and translucent apple, custard feck-
ed with cinnamon, tarts open-mouthed and
gaping for the friendly jam; and in tho
towering above the rest, the huge chicken
pie, TO whose composition had gone such
wealth of cream, Of celery, of fatted pull
lets, as is not often met with outside the
limits of the Pursall farm. With some-
thing of the feeling Of a general at the head
of his battalion Polly reviewed her forces,
noting here and there specially crisp edg
ing, and in her own mind apportioning this
and that to Uncle Nathan or Aunt Sapphi-
ra, and these to grace to-morrow's dinner;
for Tomorrow" was New England's spe-
cial day-that "great day of the feast''-in
behalf of which governors are wont to
make proclamation, and neighbors to vie
in friendly zeal of housewifery and kind
remembrance of those who have no por-
ton of their own.
"Yes," said Polly, half aloud, "that will
be the best for the Bulger children, guess.
The crust is a little too brown, but they
won't mind that, and it's so big. Then old
Aunt Pigett shall have this; ; and that one
I'll send
An approaching footstep cut short the So
liloquy, and, blushing rosy red, she caught
up one special pie, and hurried it into the
table drawer. Next moment her mother
entered
"Well, Polly, done?"
''Yes, mother. Come and look at them."
They made pleasant picture, that moth
er and daughter, as they stood side by side
before the long ironing-table. Mrs. Pur-
sail was tall and erect, the very model of
farmers wife. Strong, sweet, with face
unfurrowed by the wheels of that light
team, care and worry, who drive so heavi-
ly over female good looks in our country,
and smile undimmed and bright it was
easy to vision forth the bonny bride who,
thirty years before, had passed through
that door on her wedding morning, to be
from thenceforth the joy and comfort of all
within. And beside her stood the vision
renewed in early youth, the same eyes of
happy blue, the same dimpled cheeks, the
same capable hands for Mrs. Pursal was
a noted housewife, and Polly inherited the
gift in full measure. 1t was with little
heartbeat that she now watched her moth
er's critical survey, and the nod with which
it concluded.
"First-rate, dear; l never saw better.
And what lot of them Some are to send
away, suppose?"
"Oh yes, indeed; it would take us a
month to eat them all. See, mother, these
are the ones | picked out for ourselves
for tomorrow and Sunday, you know.
And the others are for different folks-old
Kate and Uncle Nat, and the Bulgers, and
so on. Don't you think l was lucky in my
loaf of cake?"
"lndeed you were, and it's a trying cake
too. Suppose you frost a couple of the
loaves for tomorrow evening, and put the
others away in the tin. You must he sure
and wrap them up well. Did you ask any
body to come in the evening besides the
Watsons and Jim?'
"No, ma'am-that is-yes," began Pol
ly, flushing and hustered. ~ mean did
MT ask but when Phil Raston was here
in the summer he said he should drop in If
he could, and | told him we'd be happy to
see him. That was what | meant, moth
er."
"Oh, well, replied Mrs. Pursall, too in
tent upon the pies to detect the weak points
of this lucid explanation, THAT was 80
long ago that very likely he's forgot all
about it. But Philip is always welcome,
any how"
Polly said nothing. In her secret soul
she did not believe Phil had forgotten.
How distinctly she remembered about
that promise. All through the short vaca-
ton, so vaguely alluded to as Sin the sum
mer," they had been together, Phil and
| she, gardening at the rate of a mignonette
seed to twenty minutes conversation ;