"Oh!" said Cousin Helen faintly.
"And another thing," resumed Tom, "we might as well settle the drink question right away—of course you 'll want to know. Father is the only one who drinks cereal coffee. We (Carrie and I) like the real thing, every time; and the twins have cocoa—weak, of course, so there 's not much to it."
"And you must n't sweeten mine while you 're cooking it," interposed
Rose decidedly.
"Sure enough—lucky you thought of that," laughed Tom, "or else poor Cousin Helen would have had another mistake to fret over. You see," he explained pleasantly, "Rose insists on putting in all the sugar herself, so hers has to be made unsweetened; but Rob is n't so particular and prefers his made in the regular way—sweetened while cooking, you know."
"Oh, I make two kinds of cocoa, do I?" asked Cousin Helen.
"Yes—er—that is, in two ways."
"Hm-m; and coffee and the cereal drink, making four in all?" continued
Cousin Helen, with ominous sweetness.
Tom stirred uneasily and threw a sharp glance into his cousin's face.
"Well—er—it does seem a good many; but—well, mother did, you know, and we might as well have what we want, as something different, I suppose," he finished, with vague uneasiness.
"Oh, certainly, who would mind a small thing like that!" laughed Miss
Mortimer, a queer little gleam in her eyes.