`` They 're so sour when they 're baked , '' protested Miss Salome . `` Well , you do n't want damsons sweet , do you ? '' retorted Clemantiny scornfully . `` That 's the beauty of damsons -- their tartness . And they keep ever so much better baked , Salome -- you know they do . My grandmother always baked hers , and they would keep for three years . '' Miss Salome knew that when Clemantiny dragged her grandmother into the question , it was time to surrender . Beyond that , dignity degenerated into stubbornness . It would be useless to say that she did not want to keep her damsons for three years , and that she was content to eat them up and trust to Providence for the next year 's supply . `` Well , well , bake them then , '' she said placidly . `` I do n't suppose it makes much difference one way or another . Only , I insist -- what was that noise , Clemantiny ? It sounded like something falling against the porch door . '' `` It 's that worthless dog of Martin 's , I suppose , '' said Clemantiny , grasping a broom handle with a grimness that boded ill for the dog . `` Mussing up my clean doorstep with his dirty paws again . I 'll fix him ! '' Clemantiny swept out through the porch and jerked open the door . There was a moment 's silence . Then Miss Salome heard her say , `` For the land 's sake ! Salome Whitney , come here . ''
What XXXXX Salome saw when she hurried out was a white-faced boy stretched on the doorstep at Clemantiny 's feet .
Miss broom difference land sake say silence supply time trust