Here! Maybe you'd like these." She took the hand from beneath her apron and extended it toward him.

It held a pan heaped with objects flat, brown, and deliciously fragrant.

He looked at the pan and its contents uncomprehendingly.
"What's them ?" he demanded.
"They're molasses cookies.

I've been bakin', and these are some extry ones I had left over.

You can have 'em if you want 'em." "Why--why, Emeline! this is mighty kind of you." "Not a mite," sharply.