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“Thank you very much, ma’am, for my cookie. I won’t forget to call to-morrow.” And little Briggs shook hands with as innocent a face as if his jacket pocket was not bulging in a most suspicious manner.

“You’ll get your death a cold, Hetty,” called Miss Jerusha, and, taking the hint, Charley promptly ended the visit.

“Sheer off, fellows. We are no end obliged, ma’am, and I’ll see that Briggs isn’t put upon by sneaks.”

Then the boys ran off, and the old lady retired to her parlor to sink into her easy-chair, as much excited by this little feat as if she had led a forlorn hope to storm a battery.

“I’ll fill both those big tins to-morrow, and treat every one of the small boys, if I’m spared,” she panted, with a decided nod, as she settled her cap and composed her neat black skirts, with which the wind had taken liberties, as she stood on the steps.

“I’m not sure it isn’t our duty to make and sell good, wholesome lunches to those boys. We can afford to do it cheap, and it wouldn’t be much trouble. Just put the long table across the front entry for half an hour every day, and let them come and get a bun, a cookie, or a buttered biscuit. It could be done, sister,” said Miss Jerusha, longing to distinguish herself in some way also.

“It shall be done, sister!” And Miss Hetty made up her mind at that moment to devote some of her time and skill to rescuing those blessed boys from the unprincipled Peck and his cockroach pies.

It was pleasant, as well as droll, to see how heartily the good souls threw themselves into the new enterprise, how bravely they kept each other up when courage showed signs of failing, and how rapidly they became convinced that it was a duty to provide better food for the future defenders and rulers of their native land.

“You can’t expect the dears to study with clear heads if they are not fed properly, and half the women in the world never think that what goes into children’s stomachs affects their brains,” declared Miss Hetty, as she rolled out vast sheets of dough next day, emphasizing her remarks with vigorous flourishes of the rolling-pin.

“Our blessed mother understood how to feed a family. Fourteen stout boys and girls, all alive and well, and you and I as smart at seventy one and two, as most folks at forty. Good, plain victuals and plenty of ’em is the secret of firm health,” responded Miss Jerusha, rattling a pan of buns briskly into the oven.

“We’d better make some Brighton Rock. It is gone out of fashion, but our brothers used to be dreadful fond of it, and boys are about alike all the world over. Ma’s resate never fails, and it will be a new treat for the little dears.”

“S’pose we have an extra can of milk left and give ’em a good mugful? Some of those poor things look as if they never got a drop. Peck sells beer, and milk is a deal better. Shall we, sister?”

“We’ll try it, Jerushy. In for a penny, in for a pound.”

And upon that principle the old ladies did the thing handsomely, deferring the great event till Monday, that all might be in apple-pie order. They said nothing of it when the lads came on Friday morning, and all Saturday, which was a holiday at school, was a very busy one with them.

“Hullo! Miss Hetty has done it now, hasn’t she? Look at that, old Peck, and tremble!” exclaimed Charley to his mates, as he came down the street on Monday morning, and espied a neat little sign on the sisters’ door, setting forth the agreeable fact that certain delectable articles of food and drink could be had within at reasonable prices during recess.

No caps were at the windows, but behind the drawn curtains two beaming old faces were peeping out to see how the boys took the great announcement. Whoever remembers Hawthorne’s half-comic, half-pathetic description of poor Hepsibah Pyncheon’s hopes and fears, when arranging her gingerbread wares in the little shop, can understand something of the excitement of the sisters that day, as the time drew near when the first attempt was to be made.