Part 12 (1/2)

”We have ever so many cook-books,” suggested Polly. ”Can't we do something with them?”

”I'm afraid they'd be tough, unless we boiled them a good while,”

giggled Molly. ”But really, Poll, we can work out of them; try lots of new things, you know, to astonish your father. What does he like?”

”Welsh rarebit,” responded Polly promptly; ”and baked macaroni, and lemon pudding, and--”

”Not too much, Polly; we can't do all that at once. We'll try something new every meal. Oh, say! don't let's tell your father Mary has gone. We'll have dinner all ready when he comes, and not let him know that we cooked it ourselves, until he's eaten it.

Then we'll tell him and surprise him.”

”Well,” a.s.sented Polly, with a vague misgiving that her father might discover the change of cook; ”I think it will be fun, Molly; and then, if we get hard up, there are plenty of crackers and preserves to fall back on.”

”We shan't want them,” said Molly scornfully. ”I know we shall have a great deal better things to eat than if Mary stayed.

Servant girls are so unreliable!” she added, with a whimsical imitation of Aunt Jane's manner.

”I'll tell you one thing,” said Polly, with decision, ”we must not tell the girls or Alan, for if they knew about it, they would invite themselves to meals. If we cook for us three, that is all we can do.”

”What if they come here to see us?” asked Molly.

”We'll lock the door and hide,” replied Polly inhospitably. ”There are times when company is a nuisance,--I don't mean you, Molly, for you are head housekeeper, and I couldn't get along without you. But come, we'll go up and put our room in order, while we are waiting for her to get out of the way.”

At this very moment Mrs. Adams, one hundred and fifty miles away, was congratulating herself that she had left her little daughter with such a competent servant who, though far from amiable, yet was quite capable of taking the entire charge of the house during her absence. Perhaps it was just as well that she was not within hearing of the conversation which the girls had just been holding.

CHAPTER VII.

POLLY'S HOUSEKEEPING.

”I'm going now, miss,” remarked Mary's voice at the foot of the front stairs.

”Go on, then,” said Polly, with dignity, turning to Molly to add, ”She wouldn't dare do that if mamma were here. Then she never thinks of calling to us, like this.”

Peeping stealthily out at the front window, the girls watched her as she walked off, dressed in her state and festival suit. Then they descended to the kitchen to survey their field of operations.

”She's left it in splendid order, and there's a hot fire; that's one good thing,” said Polly, lifting the stove lid to look in.

”With a fire and a cook-book, we can work wonders,” said Molly.

”Now, Polly, let's plan.”

”All right.” And Polly sat down on the wood-box. ”What shall we have for lunch? That comes first.”

”I'll tell you,” suggested Molly suddenly, as if struck with a brilliant idea; ”let's not have much for lunch. Your father won't be here, so we can eat up whatever was left over from breakfast, and have all our time for the dinner.”

”But 'tisn't time to get dinner now; it's only eleven o'clock,”

said Polly.

”Yes, it is time,” returned Molly. ”I want to try a lemon pudding for dessert, if he likes them, and it takes ever so much time, I know. We must feed him up well, so he won't look thin to your mother when, she gets back.”