He put the sled back in the shed; then he
stole into the house. He took off his shoes in the entry, and got
safely into his own room. He was in his night-gown and all ready for
bed when another daring thought struck him.
Ephraim padded softly on his bare feet out through the kitchen to the
pantry. Every third step or so he stopped and listened to the heavy
double breathing from the bedroom beyond. So long as that continued
he was safe. He listened, and then slid on a pace or two as noiseless
as a shadow in the moonlight.
Ephraim knew well where the mince-pies were kept. There was a long
row of them covered with towels on an upper shelf.
Ephraim hoisted himself painfully upon a meal-bucket, and clawed a
pie over the edge of the shelf. He could scarcely reach, and there
was quite a loud grating noise. He stood trembling on the bucket and
listened, but the double breathing continued. Deborah had been
unusually tired that night; she had gone to bed earlier, and slept
more soundly.
Ephraim broke a great jagged half from the mince-pie; then replaced
it with another grating slide. Again he listened, but his mother had
not been awakened.
Ephraim crept back to his bedroom. There he sat on the edge of his
bed and devoured his pie. The rich spicy compound and the fat plums
melted on his tongue, and the savor thereof delighted his very soul.
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