“No,” said Betty, “I’m not chief cook—Marjorie is that. I’ll be the first assistant. I’ll prepare the vegetables for her, and be a—a peeler.”
“Hurrah for Betty the Peeler!” said Marjorie, appearing again in the front door. “And what am I?”
“You’re the cook,” said Millicent.
“But we’re all cooks.”
“Yes, I know; but you’re head cook, chief cook—cook plenipotentiary, or any title you prefer.”
“Then I’ll be cook,” said Marjorie, “just plain cook.”
“Indeed, you’ll be more than a plain cook,” said her mother, laughing, “if you attempt all the fancy dishes in all those recipe-books I saw you stowing away in your trunk.”
“Oh, they weren’t all recipe-books. Some of them were delectable tales to be read aloud at the twilight hour. I could only take light literature, as the box weighs about a ton now. So I was forced to leave out ‘Advice to Young Maidens’ and Carlyle’s ‘French Revolution,’ for I really hadn’t room.”
“I hope you took ‘Rollo Learning to Work,’ for I’m sure we’ll need it.”
“No, Betty, I didn’t; but I packed ‘First Aid to the Injured’ and ‘Alice in Wonderland’; we can struggle along with those.”