Part 3 (2/2)

The cellar door opened out of the kitchen. There were five wooden steps leading down. It wasn't a proper cellar at all, the children thought, because its ceiling went up as high as the kitchen's. A bacon-rack hung under its ceiling. There was wood in it, and coal. Also the big cases.

Peter held the candle, all on one side, while Mother tried to open the great packing-case. It was very securely nailed down.

”Where's the hammer?” asked Peter.

”That's just it,” said Mother. ”I'm afraid it's inside the box. But there's a coal-shovel--and there's the kitchen poker.”

And with these she tried to get the case open.

”Let me do it,” said Peter, thinking he could do it better himself.

Everyone thinks this when he sees another person stirring a fire, or opening a box, or untying a knot in a bit of string.

”You'll hurt your hands, Mammy,” said Roberta; ”let me.”

”I wish Father was here,” said Phyllis; ”he'd get it open in two shakes.

What are you kicking me for, Bobbie?”

”I wasn't,” said Roberta.

Just then the first of the long nails in the packing-case began to come out with a scrunch. Then a lath was raised and then another, till all four stood up with the long nails in them s.h.i.+ning fiercely like iron teeth in the candle-light.

”Hooray!” said Mother; ”here are some candles--the very first thing! You girls go and light them. You'll find some saucers and things. Just drop a little candle-grease in the saucer and stick the candle upright in it.”

”How many shall we light?”

”As many as ever you like,” said Mother, gaily. ”The great thing is to be cheerful. n.o.body can be cheerful in the dark except owls and dormice.”

So the girls lighted candles. The head of the first match flew off and stuck to Phyllis's finger; but, as Roberta said, it was only a little burn, and she might have had to be a Roman martyr and be burned whole if she had happened to live in the days when those things were fas.h.i.+onable.

Then, when the dining-room was lighted by fourteen candles, Roberta fetched coal and wood and lighted a fire.

”It's very cold for May,” she said, feeling what a grown-up thing it was to say.

The fire-light and the candle-light made the dining-room look very different, for now you could see that the dark walls were of wood, carved here and there into little wreaths and loops.

The girls hastily 'tidied' the room, which meant putting the chairs against the wall, and piling all the odds and ends into a corner and partly hiding them with the big leather arm-chair that Father used to sit in after dinner.

”Bravo!” cried Mother, coming in with a tray full of things. ”This is something like! I'll just get a tablecloth and then--”

The tablecloth was in a box with a proper lock that was opened with a key and not with a shovel, and when the cloth was spread on the table, a real feast was laid out on it.

Everyone was very, very tired, but everyone cheered up at the sight of the funny and delightful supper. There were biscuits, the Marie and the plain kind, sardines, preserved ginger, cooking raisins, and candied peel and marmalade.

”What a good thing Aunt Emma packed up all the odds and ends out of the Store cupboard,” said Mother. ”Now, Phil, DON'T put the marmalade spoon in among the sardines.”

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