fried potatoes. I have baked ones."

"Baked ones?"

"Yes; mother always baked them for me."'

"Oh, that's too bad; you can't eat them, then,--they hurt you!"

Tom laughed.

"Hurt me? Not a bit of it! I don't like them, that's all. Never
mind; you can do it to-morrow."

When "to-morrow" came Miss Mortimer had not forgotten. The big round
dish was heaped with potatoes baked to a turn.

"Thank you, I'll take the fried," said Carrie, as the dish was passed
to her.

"The f-fried?" stammered Miss Mortimer.

"Yes; I prefer those."

"But there _are_ no fried. I baked them."

"Well, how funny!" laughed Carrie. "I thought we had it all fixed
yesterday. I thought we were to have both fried and baked. Mother
always did, you know. You see, we don't like them the same way. Never
mind," she added with a beaming smile, quite misunderstanding the look
on her cousin's face, "it does n't matter a bit and you must n't feel
so bad. It 'll be all right to-morrow, I'm sure."

"Yes, and I want buckwheat cakes, please," piped up Rob.

"All right, you shall have them," agreed Cousin Helen with a smile.

Tom laughed.

"Maybe you don't quite know what you 're getting into, Cousin Helen,"
he suggested. "If you make buckwheat cakes for Rob--it means graham
muffins for Rose."

"And she shall have them; the very next morning, too."

"Oh, no, that will never do. She demands them the same day."

"What!"

"Oh, I thought you didn't understand," chuckled Tom. "When you make
one, you have to make both. Mother always did--she had to; 't was the
only way she could suit both the twins, and I don't believe you 'll
find any other way out of it. As for us--we don't mind; we eat them
all!"

"Oh!" said Cousin Helen faintly.

"And another thing," resumed Tom, "we might as well settle the drink
question right away--of course you 'll want to know. Father is the
only one who drinks cereal coffee. We (Carrie and I) like the real
thing, every time; and the twins have cocoa--weak, of course, so there
's not much to it."

"And you must n't sweeten mine while you 're cooking it," interposed
Rose decidedly.

"Sure enough--lucky you thought of that," laughed Tom, "or else poor
Cousin Helen would have had another mistake to fret over. You see," he
explained pleasantly, "Rose insists on putting in _all_ the sugar
herself, so hers has to be made unsweetened; but Rob is n't so
particular and prefers his made in the regular way-