ke
peach fritters. She knew she could. She would show them!

And with actually a bit of song on her lips, Billy skipped up-stairs
for her ruffled apron and dust-cap--two necessary accompaniments to this
dinner-getting, in her opinion.

Billy found the apron and dust-cap with no difficulty; but it took fully
ten of her precious minutes to unearth from its obscure hiding-place the
blue-and-gold "Bride's Helper" cookbook, one of Aunt Hannah's wedding
gifts.

On the way to the kitchen, Billy planned her dinner. As was natural,
perhaps, she chose the things she herself would like to eat.

"I won't attempt anything very elaborate," she said to herself. "It
would be wiser to have something simple, like chicken pie, perhaps. I
love chicken pie! And I'll have oyster stew first--that is, after the
grapefruit. Just oysters boiled in milk must be easier than soup to
make. I'll begin with grapefruit with a cherry in it, like Pete fixes
it. Those don't have to be cooked, anyhow. I'll have fish--Bertram loves
the fish course. Let me see, halibut, I guess, with egg sauce. I won't
have any roast; nothing but the chicken pie. And I'll have squash and
onions. I can have a salad, easy--just lettuce and stuff. That doesn't
have to be cooked. Oh, and the peach fritters, if I get time to make
them. For dessert--well, maybe I can find a new pie or pudding in the
cookbook. I want to use that cookbook for something, after hunting all
this time for it!"

In the kitchen Billy found exquisite neatness, and silence. The first
brought an approving light to her eyes; but the second, for some
unapparent reason, filled her heart with vague misgiving. This feeling,
however, Billy resolutely cast from her as she crossed the room, dropped
her book on to the table, and turned toward the shining black stove.

There was an excellent fire. Glowing points of light showed that only
a good draft was needed to make the whole mass of coal red-hot. Billy,
however, did not know this. Her experience of fires was confined to
burning wood in open grates--and wood in open grates had to be poked to
make it red and glowing. With confident alacrity now, therefore, Billy
caught up the poker, thrust it into the mass of coals and gave them a
fine stirring up. Then she set back the lid of the stove and went to
hunt up the ingredients for her dinner.

By the time Billy had searched five minutes and found no chicken, no
oysters, and no halibut, it occurred to her that her