in another plum-pudding that the children so
loved.

"Well, do give 'em to us," cried Polly; "do, ma!"

"I want 'em for a plum-pudding sometime," said Mrs. Pepper.

"Ow!--" and Joel with a howl sprung up from the floor where he had been
trying to make a cart for "Baby" out of an old box, and joined Mrs.
Pepper and Polly. "No, don't give 'em away, ma!" he screamed; "let's
have our plum-pudding--now, Polly Pepper, you're a-goin' to bake up all
our raisins in nasty little cakes--and--"

"Joey!" commanded Mrs. Pepper, "hush! what word did you say!"

"Well," blubbered Joel, wiping his tears away with his grimy little
hand, "Polly's--a-goin'--to give--"

"I should rather you'd never have a plum-pudding than to say such
words," said Mrs. Pepper, sternly, taking up her work again. "And
besides, do you think what Jasper has done for you?" and her face grew
very white around the lips.

"Well, he can have plum-puddings," said Joel, whimpering, "forever an'
ever, if he wants them--and--and--"

"Well, Joey," said Polly, "there, don't feel bad," and she put her arms
around him, and tried to wipe away the tears that still rolled down his
cheeks. "We won't give 'em if you don't want us to; but Jasper's sick,
and there isn't anything for him to do, and--" here she whispered slyly
up into his ear, "don't you remember how you liked folks to send you
things when you had the measles?"

"Yes, I know," said Joel, beginning to smile through his tears; "wasn't
it fun, Polly?"

"I guess 'twas," laughed Polly back again, pleased at the return of
sunshine. "Well, Jasper'll be just as pleased as you were, 'cause we
love him and want to do somethin' for him, he was so good to Phronsie."

"I will, Polly, I will," cried Joel, completely won over; "do let's make
'em for him; and put 'em in thick; oh! thick as you can;" and determined
to do nothing by halves, Joel ran generously for the precious howl of
raisins, and after setting it on the table, began to help Polly in all
needful preparations.

Mrs. Pepper smiled away to herself to see happiness restored to the
little group. And soon a pleasant hum and bustle went on around the
baking table, the centre of attraction.

"Now," said Phronsie, coming up to the table and standing on tip-toe to
see Polly measure out the flour, "I'm a-goin' to bake something for my
sick man, I am."

"Oh, no, Phronsie, you can't," began Polly.

"Hey?" asked Joel, with a daub of flour on the tip of his chubby