"Oh, Cousin Helen," began Tom, in an annoyed manner, "I forgot to tell you; I don't like fried potatoes. I have baked ones."
"Baked ones?"
"Yes; mother always baked them for me."'
"Oh, that's too bad; you can't eat them, then,—they hurt you!"
Tom laughed.
"Hurt me? Not a bit of it! I don't like them, that's all. Never mind; you can do it to-morrow."
When "to-morrow" came Miss Mortimer had not forgotten. The big round dish was heaped with potatoes baked to a turn.
"Thank you, I'll take the fried," said Carrie, as the dish was passed to her.
"The f-fried?" stammered Miss Mortimer.
"Yes; I prefer those."