Dr. Rowe was the first to open the kitchen door and peep in. “Here, here, what’s all this fun about?” he exclaimed. “Let me in on it, can’t you?”
“Not unless you share the work,” said his daughter saucily.
“Glad to do it. Do I wear an apron? Am I to wash or wipe?”
“Neither,” Ellen told him. “We are in the thick of it, and may as well finish. Are you willing to make yourself useful in any old way?”
“You have but to command me.”
“Then you can sort out those punch glasses and put them carefully in that basket; they go back to the Hales, that is, all those with the wall of Tyre decoration; the others belong to Mrs. Todd.”
“Be sure you don’t break any, Daddy,” sang out Caro. “You know what to expect from Mrs. Todd, if you do.”
“I’m not in the least afraid of Bessie Todd,” the doctor declared emphatically. “I’ve ordered her about too many times in the past not to expect her to stand in awe of me.”
“What’s that about Bessie Todd?” asked that person appearing at the door.
“I said I wasn’t afraid of you, but that I expected you to be afraid of me,” retorted the doctor.