For she divined very accurately
that they would hold her accountable for Gypsy's blunder--even
though the blunder was rectifiable; it was a BIG pie, and most of it
as good as ever. They were unreasonable, unjust.
Mother seemed unable to tear herself away from the despoiled
masterpiece.
"Come, mamma," said father, "it's nothing to make such a fuss about.
Just trot out some of that apple sauce of yours. Mr. MacGill doesn't
get to taste anything like that every day." He turned to the
minister. "The world's full of apple sauce--but there's apple sauce
and apple sauce. Now my wife's apple sauce is APPLE SAUCE! I tell
her it's a dish for a king."
And Rev. MacGill, after sampling the impromptu dessert, assured his
hostess that her husband's eulogy had been only too moderate. He
vowed he had never eaten such apple sauce. But Mrs. Merriam still
looked bleak. She knew she could make a better deep-dish peach pie
than Mrs. Allen could. And, then, to give the minister apple sauce
and nabiscos!--the first time he had eaten at her table in two
months!
Missy, who knew her mother well, couldn't help feeling a deep degree
of sympathy; besides, she wished Rev.
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