“There, Flora,” she said, “it is twelve o’clock and Jerry will be home soon, and there’ll be no dinner for him unless I get it. I wonder if I can. Mother said she couldn’t tell when she’d be back, so I’ll have to do the best I can, for Jerry will be so hungry; he always is on Saturdays. I will see what there is in the safe.” She opened the door and looked at the various contents of the safe.
There was a plate of cold corn-bread, little dish of beef stew, and a small, a very small plate of cheese. Cassy regarded these thoughtfully; they did not look very promising, and she shut the safe door.
“I’ll try and make the fire, Flora,” she remarked, “and then Miss Morning-Glory and I will get dinner. We are going to have—to have—chicken sandwiches, and green peas, and fried potatoes, and little long rolls, and strawberries and ice-cream and cake. Oh, yes, and first there will be soup in little cups.” She had her luncheon at Mrs. Dallas’s in mind.
Going to the stove she took off the lids and looked in. She had never made a fire, for Jerry or her mother always did that, and she was a little dubious about the matter. Mrs. Law had to be very frugal in the matter of fuel so there was no coal to be put on, and Cassy thought she could easily manage the wood. So she stuffed in some paper and piled some sticks of wood on top of it, then shut it all up tight after lighting it. In a few minutes she looked at it, but it was dead out. She tried a second time, but with no better success. How in the world did her mother manage to do it so easily?
She stood looking at it, puzzled what to do next, then she remembered that some chips and light kindling must go in on top of the paper. She tried to get off some little slivers, and by so doing managed first to get a splinter in her forefinger and then to cut a gash in her thumb. She was ready to cry, and indeed the tears were standing in her eyes, for the time was going and Jerry would be at home very soon. She could not bear to confess to him that she could not make fire, for Jerry, like all boys, was ready to tease. So she took off the lids again to make a last effort.
Just then there was a knock at the door, and when it was opened there stood Rock Hardy.
“I came to tell you that your mother will not be home till late,” he told Cassy. He caught sight of her thumb tied up with a rag. “Why, what a woebegone little face,” he said, “and your finger is bleeding. What have you been doing to yourself?”
“I’ve been trying to make a fire and it won’t burn.” Cassy’s voice was full of tears. “And I can’t get this splinter out, and I cut myself trying to make kindling.”
“You poor little girl! you have had trouble of your own. Here, let me see. I’ll get that splinter out, and tie up that thumb properly, and make the fire, too. Are you here all alone?”
“Yes, you know Jerry has his market errands to do, and I wanted to have dinner ready by the time he came.”