Buckwheat cakes, each as big as the plate itself with "oodles of butter and real maple syrup," to quote Bob.
"We don't even get as good as this at Salsette," said Tommy Tucker grimly. "Oh, cracky!"
"I want to know!" gibed his twin, borrowing a phrase he had heard New England Libbie use on one occasion. "If Major Pater could see us now!"
Libbie and Timothy forgot to quote poetry. The fact was, as Bobby pointed out, buckwheat cakes like those were poems in themselves.
"And when one's mouth is full of such poems, mere printed verses lack value."
Romantic as she was, Libbie admitted the truth of her cousin's remark.
A chime of bells at the door hastened the completion of the meal. The boys might have sat there longer and, like boa-constrictors, gorged themselves into lethargy.
However, adventure was ahead and the sound of the sledge bells excited the young people. They got on their coats and caps and furs and mittens and trooped out to the "pung," as the elder Jaroth called the low, deep, straw-filled sledge to which he had attached four strong farm horses.
There were no seats. It would be much more comfortable sitting in the straw, and much warmer. For although the storm had entirely passed the
