"Oh, don't let your heart break over such prosaic things as dinners!
We'll crawl out of this hole somehow."
"But what can we do, papa? It's after six o'clock, and all the markets are shut up, and there isn't a thing in the house except those horrible things I tried to make."
"Patty," said her father, struck by a sudden thought, "to-morrow is
Sunday. Do you mean to say you haven't ordered for over Sunday?"
"No, I haven't," said Patty, aghast at the enormity of her offence.
Mr. Fairfield laughed at the horror-stricken look on his daughter's face.
"I always thought you couldn't keep house," he said, with an air of resignation. "On Monday I shall advertise for a housekeeper."
"Oh, please don't," pleaded Patty. "Give me one more trial. I've had a good lesson, and truly I'll profit by it. Let me try again."
"But you can't try again before Monday, and by that time we'll all be dead of starvation."
"Of course we will," said Patty despairingly. "I wish we were Robinson
Crusoes and could eat bark or something."
"Well, baby, I think you have had a pretty good lesson, and we can't put old heads on young shoulders all at once, so I'll help you out this time, and then, the next time you go back on me in this heartless fashion, I'll discharge you."