“Oh, I don’t know. Stop in and ask Aunt Molly; she’ll direct you.”
“ ’Tis well, O chief! We will return in triumph with our enchainèd captive!”
“Now,” said Marjorie, as the door banged behind Nan and Marguerite, “those rattle-pated girls are sure to get lost, and we’ll never see them again. Meantime let’s get to work. We haven’t explored the cellar yet. Perhaps the people who’ve been in the cottage all summer left a lot of good things.”
Down cellar they went; but a thorough search revealed nothing of interest but a basket of onions, a refrigerator, and an old trunk, which attracted Hester’s attention at once.
“Why, that’s a real old English trunk!” she cried. “Where did it come from? It’s locked, and the lock is all rusty. What do you find, Marjorie?”
“Nothing but onions and flour; but the flour looks queer—I don’t believe it’s good.”
“That isn’t flour, you goose; it’s Indian meal. It’ll be gay for corn-bread.”
“Who can make corn-bread? I can’t,” confessed Betty.
“Oh, yes, you can, if you try,” declared Marjorie. “Your cooking always turns out all right. Now, as we’re going to have steak for supper, what do you say to having fried onions? There are plenty here, and I do love ’em, don’t you?”
“Yes; and we never have them at home, they’re so—so intrusive. Let’s do it!”