WE STEAL A PIE

WHEN Mother made pies, she did a thorough job of it, making pie after delicious pie, so that there was an abundance of the juicy sweets for all who wanted to eat. When there was no other ingredients, she made vinegar pie.

One day, after fruit was less difficult to get, Mother baked mince pies— big ones and little ones, a whole feast of pies. We girls could see that our mamma was in playful mood, so we stole a pie, right from under her very nose. She pretended to be angry, and made as if to take the pie away from us. We started to run. Mother was fat, but she ran after us, waddling like an irate duck. She playfully scolded us as she ran. Being young and light of foot, we girls could easily out distance her, so we went dancing along just fast enough to keep away from her, all the time egging her on. We ran on, we girls taking occasional bites from the pie, and Mother wheezing, and puffing and scolding behind us.

At last we reached the barn. Now this barn was originally built of logs. Later the log part was used as a haymow, and sheds were built on to house the stock. A log had been sawed in two, to make an opening through which the hay could be passed to the cows and horses.

As we ran into the barn, we girls spied the hole in to the haymow. We easily climbed over the manger, and through the hole. But Mother ample body would go neither over the manger nor through the hole. So we sat there on the sweet hay, and happily ate our pie, just out of reach of Mother.