“Your gravy is better than mine,” said Olive and she stuck a fork into the potatoes. They were done and she whisked them off the stove.
With Olive’s coming, ill-luck went away. Nobody upset anything more, and nothing burned.
Father, Uncle Dan, and Mr. Gates came in together and Mother sent them directly into the parlor. She said it was bad enough to have a cat getting underfoot; she could not stand three men.
When they sat down to dinner, nobody could have guessed that the table had twice been completely set. If Olive noticed that this was not the best table-cloth, she didn’t say anything, but of course, nobody would be so rude as to speak of a thing like that.
The roast pork was done to a turn. Everybody enjoyed it and was glad that it wasn’t chicken. Forty-nine cents apiece, in two mite-boxes, would be quite an addition to the Christmas manger.
They sat a long time at the table, talking and enjoying the early twilight. Indeed, it was really dark when the last piece of pie was eaten and the last nut cracked.
“Now, we will do the dishes,” said Mr. Merrill. “Wash or wipe, Dan?”
Mother Merrill gave a gasp and the children laughed. Sometimes, Father wiped dishes, but neither he nor Uncle Dan was ever trusted to wash them.
Uncle Dan was game. He took Mother’s apron from behind the door and put it on. He got out the dish-pan.
“Dan, you will never get those kettles clean,” said Mrs. Merrill, but she did not speak as though she meant him to stop. Mother was tired. She had cooked dinner and still had Dora’s dress and the table-cloth to wash.