"I do not! I want a big, all-enveloping cook's apron."
"Well, I suppose you don't want a man's. I'll find you one of Marie's."
"I don't care whose it is, if it's big. Skip, now!"
Mona vanished, and Patty jumped out of bed, and dressed for her new work. She chose a pink-sprigged dimity, simply made, with short sleeves and collarless neck. A dainty breakfast cap surmounted her coil of curls, donned, it must be confessed, because of its extreme becomingness. Mona provided a large, plain white apron, and going to the kitchen, Patty considered the situation.
The viands for the luncheon had arrived, but were not in the least prepared for use. A large basket showed a quantity of live crabs, which lay quietly enough, but a twitching claw here and there betrayed their activity.
"Mercy!" cried Mona, "let's throw these away! You can't do anything with these creatures!"
"Nonsense," said Patty, "I'm versed in the ways of crabs. I'll attend to them. What else, Mona?"
"Oh, here are some queer looking things from the butcher's. I don't know what they are. Can they be brains?"
"No, they're sweetbreads, and fine ones, too. And here is the romaine for the salad, and lovely squabs to roast. Oh, Mona, I'm just in my element! I LOVE to do these things; you know I'm a born cook. But I must have a helper."
"I know; Marie always helped Francois. They were a splendid pair. It's a pity Aunt Adelaide had to stir them up so,—and all over nothing."