"What's that there dirty saucepan lying on the chair for?" demanded Plunkett, as Marigold gave the eggs to Mrs. Plunkett. She would have cooked them herself, but the elder woman stood guarding the fire.
"It's been all the morning," murmured Marigold.
"Well, why don't somebody clean it, and put it away? Eh? That's what I want to know."
"I'd do it, if I might, father."
"She's not a-going to meddle with me nor my work. So there!" spoke Mrs. Plunkett aggressively, dropping the two biggest eggs into a saucepan, and keeping back one.
"All three!" ordered Plunkett. "I'm famished, I can tell you! What's an egg to a hungry man—eh?"
"Mother, that water don't boil," said Marigold.
"You just mind your business, and I'll mind mine," said Mrs. Plunkett.
Marigold gave her father a look, and he returned it with meaning. Hers said, "You see, I can't help myself!" His said, "What next, I wonder?"
Then Marigold brought out a clean cloth, and spread it neatly on one end of the kitchen table. Bread and butter, plate and cup, followed. Plunkett watched her with satisfaction.