"I have burned my hand," said Florence, trying hard not to cry. "I wanted to look at the fire, and when I lifted the lid, the steam from the kettle came just where I put my hand. I didn't know steam could burn so."
"It is worse than anything else," informed Dimple. "It is too bad. I'll get something to put on it, to take the burn out."
"Kar'sene's mighty good," suggested Bubbles.
"Yes, and so is flour; and linseed oil is good; that will be the best," and the bottle being brought, the wounded hand was bound up and Florence retired from action and sat on the step watching the others, while she nursed her hurt.
"Let me see," went on Dimple, bustling about. "We have chicken, and bread and butter, and sliced tomatoes, and milk, and the 'cobbler.' It is doing, Florence; it is beginning to brown."
"I wish it would hurry up," Florence said. "I'm hungry, and, oh! how my hand hurts."
"Isn't it any better?"
"A little; but it doesn't feel a bit good."
"It is too bad," said Dimple, sympathetically, coming over and putting a floury hand on her cousin's.
"I smell the pie," she exclaimed, jumping up. "It must be burning," and she ran to the oven.