“ ‘Oh, promise me—oh, promise me-e-e!’ ” came floating out from the bedroom where Jessie was still arranging and rearranging her cherished belongings.
“Jessie ought to do some work,” said Millicent. “She’s too dainty and dressy for any use. She ought to be disciplined. Let’s make her come out here and be Scullery-maid.”
So they all crowded in at Jessie’s doorway, and found her sitting on the floor by her open trunk, surrounded by laces and ribbons and fans, and still musically begging the required promise.
“We’ll promise you nothing until you come out and do some work for it,” said Marjorie. “So get up at once.” Then, picking up an elaborate little Swiss apron, she tied its ribbons round Jessie’s waist. “There!” she said. “Now you’re appropriately decorated, and I herewith appoint you Scullery-maid of this institution. Now skip along and empty that pan of onion-skins.”
“Oh, don’t let her spoil that pretty apron,” said Hester the practical, and she took off her own big gingham one and tied it over the dainty affair.
“Is this a game?” said Betty, taking off her own apron and tying it over Hester’s on Jessie.
Like a flash the three other aprons came off their owners and were piled on the luckless Jessie—round her waist, round her neck, before and behind, until Millicent declared she looked like Tweedledee prepared for his fight with Tweedledum.
Good-natured Jessie trotted off with the pan, and on her return was seized by Betty the Peeler, who peeled off the numerous aprons and restored them to their owners.
