Then she stopped.
“I must see Deborah first,” she said. “I wonder if she caught any rats.”
“To be sure, I forgot Deborah. Give her my love.”
Mr. Alder went to separate his milk, while Clematis found Deborah sound asleep on the hay, and ready to visit the raspberry patch.
Soon the bell for breakfast rang, and Clematis ran to the house. Her lips and fingers were red with raspberries, for she had found big ones.
By her plate was her tiny glass, and a pitcher of rich milk. There were corn flakes, and shredded wheat first, and then toast, and bacon, and big baked apples with cream.
Clematis had never really expected to have such things to eat. The stories other little girls had told her, all had seemed like fairy tales.
“Now you can help me a while, if you wish,” said Mrs. Alder, after breakfast. “Can you wash dishes?”
“Oh, yes’m, I can do that all right.”
Clematis looked after Mr. Alder with longing eyes. He was going to feed the pigs. She longed to go too, but she knew she must help all she could.