CHAPTER V
AUNT MARIA
"FOR the land's sakes!" cried Aunt Maria. "For the land's sakes! Where in the world has that child been? Look at those hands! Have you been playing in the coal?"
"I put coal on the fire," said Mary Frances.
"I guess I'll take a look at that fire, myself," Aunt Maria continued, as she started toward the kitchen.
Just then, she caught sight of the tray which Mary Frances had brought downstairs.
"Milk Toast," she sniffed. "Who sent that in?"
"I—I made it," Mary Frances began.
There was one tiny piece left. Aunt Maria looked at it hard.
"It's wonderful," she said, "wonderful; who showed you how?"
"Who showed you how?" she demanded, as Mary Frances stood silent.
"N-no-body,—at least, no real person. I read about how to make it in my cook book."
"Your cook book—you mean your mother's cook book."
"No," said Mary Frances, "I mean my cook book Mother's been making for me. I'll show it to you," and she ran to get it. "See!—in Mother's writing—'Mary Frances' First Cook Book!'"
"Well," said Aunt Maria, "you may turn out of some account, after all. It's about time to call for a ref-or-ma-tion."
"Yes, ma'am," said Mary Frances, not un-der-stand-ing the big word—"do you want me to call for it now?"
"Don't be saucy!" snapped the old lady.
Then she set about washing the little girl's hands and face, rubbing so hard that it made the tears come, finishing off with the towel until Mary Frances felt her face shine.
"Wonder if she thinks I'm a stove," she thought. "Maybe she'll black me some day by mistake! I don't believe she knows how old I am—she treats me like a baby, for all the world sometimes, yet she thinks I ought to know more. Queer!"
While Aunt Maria was busy getting dinner, she ran up to her mother's room.
"Mother," she asked, "Aunt Maria will be gone home most of the day time, while you're away, won't she?"
"Yes, dear," said Mother; "you and Brother are to go to her house to lunch."
"Mother, dear," begged Mary Frances, "can't I get lunch for Brother and me? I was going to tell you I read—I found the recipe for the Milk Toast in my little cook book you've been making for me. I came up and found it while you were asleep—I just know I can get our lunches. Please, Mother, can't I try?"
"Well, dear," said Mother, smiling, "I really believe you may. I've just been thinking about the toast, and what a woman my dear little girl is."
Just then Aunt Maria called:
"Dinner!"
