THE PIE

All afternoon Mother baked and cooked. On a hot summer day, it made the kitchen like an oven. Mother’s forehead was beaded with perspiration. The threshers would be there for supper. Never let it be said that she couldn’t set a good table.

Mother had baked three lemon meringue pies. She had also baked a smaller one in Jenny’s plate, the aluminum baby plate with the ABC’s around the rim.

“Is that mine?” Jenny asked.

Mother had answered, “Yes,” absently, thinking Jenny was referring to the plate.

The tired hungry threshers came in late that evening. Mother had already given Jenny something to eat, thinking she might put her to bed early. There was a bigger crew than Mother had anticipated. She put heaping bowls and platters of food on the table, but they were soon emptied. She kept filling the men’s glasses with iced tea.

It was time for dessert. Mother cut the three big pies and the little one. Jenny set up a big howl when she saw Mother serve pie to the men from her baby plate. She had thought that was to be all hers. She went off in the corner and sobbed by herself.

“What’s a matter?” on of the men sympathetically inquired.

“Oh, she’s just tired,” Mother told him . “Time she was in bed.”

Jenny didn’t want to go to bed. She wanted some pie. Mother hadn’t paid much attention to her all day, and those intruders were eating her pie.