And their hungry hearts were gladdened.
Then they all sat down to supper.
“Oh, who could describe all the laughter and chatter,
As quickly they cleared every dish and each platter? —
Each feeling they’d now reached the height of their wishes,
Excepting that some one must wash up the dishes.
“There, that’s as far as I’ve written.”
“Give it to me,” said Millicent; “I’m no poet, but I’ll write the kitchen chronicles.”
She scribbled away, reading aloud as she wrote —
“The dish-washing was exciting in the extreme. The Duchess, being overcome at the sight of so much work, was laid upon the buttery shelf. The Duchess’s apron fell on the Peeler, who, with the valuable assistance of the Stoker, smashed three plates and a cup. The Poet, not seeing the Matron, fell over her while crossing the kitchen, which made the Matron cross (the threshold). The Duchess (very naturally) slipped off the buttery shelf, and the Wandering Minstrel and Scullery-maid, sneaking away from the glorious company of dish-washers, made night hideous with their wild howlings in the Grotto (banjo accompaniment).”