ked his lips and began to beg,
evidently thinking that it was his own dinner, for he often carried it
to his master in that way. Being undeceived, he departed in great wrath
and barked all the way downstairs, to ease his wounded feelings.

In the basket were two bits of steak (doll's pounds), a baked pear, a
small cake, and paper with them on which Asia had scrawled, "For Missy's
lunch, if her cookin' don't turn out well."

"I don't want any of her old pears and things; my cooking will turn out
well, and I'll have a splendid dinner; see if I don't!" cried Daisy,
indignantly.

"We may like them if company should come. It is always well to have
something in the storeroom," said Aunt Jo, who had been taught this
valuable fact by a series of domestic panics.

"Me is hundry," announced Teddy, who began to think what with so much
cooking going on it was about time for somebody to eat something. His
mother gave him her workbasket to rummage, hoping to keep him quiet till
dinner was ready, and returned to her housekeeping.

"Put on your vegetables, set the table, and then have some coals
kindling ready for the steak."

What a thing it was to see the potatoes bobbing about in the little pot;
to peep at the squash getting soft so fast in the tiny steamer; to whisk
open the oven door every five minutes to see how the pies got on, and
at last when the coals were red and glowing, to put two real steaks on
a finger-long gridiron and proudly turn them with a fork. The potatoes
were done first, and no wonder, for they had boiled frantically all the
while. The were pounded up with a little pestle, had much butter and no
salt put in (cook forgot it in the excitement of the moment), then it
was made into a mound in a gay red dish, smoothed over with a knife
dipped in milk, and put in the oven to brown.

So absorbed in these last performances had Sally been, that she forgot
her pastry till she opened the door to put in the potato, then a wail
arose, for alas! alas! the little pies were burnt black!

"Oh, my pies! My darling pies! They are all spoilt!" cried poor Sally,
wringing her dirty little hands as she surveyed the ruin of her work.
The tart was especially pathetic, for the quirls and zigzags stuck up in
all directions from the blackened jelly, like the walls and chimney of a
house after a fire.

"Dear, dear, I forgot to remind you to take them out; it's just my
luck," said Aunt Jo, remorsefully. "Don't cry, darling, it was