“Bravo!” cried Mother, coming in with a tray full of things. “This is something like! I'll just get a tablecloth and then—”
The tablecloth was in a box with a proper lock that was opened with a key and not with a shovel, and when the cloth was spread on the table, a real feast was laid out on it.
Everyone was very, very tired, but everyone cheered up at the sight of the funny and delightful supper. There were biscuits, the Marie and the plain kind, sardines, preserved ginger, cooking raisins, and candied peel and marmalade.
“What a good thing Aunt Emma packed up all the odds and ends out of the Store cupboard,” said Mother. “Now, Phil, DON'T put the marmalade spoon in among the sardines.”
“No, I won't, Mother,” said Phyllis, and put it down among the Marie biscuits.
“Let's drink Aunt Emma's health,” said Roberta, suddenly; “what should we have done if she hadn't packed up these things? Here's to Aunt Emma!”
And the toast was drunk in ginger wine and water, out of willow-patterned tea-cups, because the glasses couldn't be found.
They all felt that they had been a little hard on Aunt Emma. She wasn't a nice cuddly person like Mother, but after all it was she who had thought of packing up the odds and ends of things to eat.
It was Aunt Emma, too, who had aired all the sheets ready; and the men who had moved the furniture had put the bedsteads together, so the beds were soon made.
“Good night, chickies,” said Mother. “I'm sure there aren't any rats. But I'll leave my door open, and then if a mouse comes, you need only scream, and I'll come and tell it exactly what I think of it.”