“Exactly. No wood, no coal?”
James shook his head. Mrs. Smith opened a side door, and called to some one in the upper rooms, in which her family dwelt.
“Kate! Kate Gorman!”
“Well, marum, what’s to the fore now?”
“Come down stairs, Kate—but no matter. Is there a good fire in the range?”
“Never a better!”
“Then take this, and this; broil the steak, fry the ham, slice up the cold potatoes left after dinner, and fry them; then heat some tin pans, and put them in.”
“Thin I’m not to set the table, marum?”
“No. Make a strong pot of coffee, and one of tea, bring ’em hot; pickles, mustard; and don’t forget some of them strawberry preserves, too.”
“But what am I to do with the same, Mistress Smith?”