"I know we are going to miss you," cried Doris sincerely. "You have always been kind to us, and we have never been able to pay you half what you deserved. And if we find we can't get along, and you are willing, we shall have you back in a hurry. But I am going to try, and I never yield until I have to."
So Doris paid Miss Carlton the modest sum due her and the two parted with cordiality, Miss Carlton leaving friendly messages for the other members of the household.
As soon as she was quite out of sight, Doris flew to the kitchen.
"Even the Problem is amenable to a good meal," she said. "She shall have delicious cream gravy—the little glutton—and pear preserves, and apple dumplings."
So eagerly and so passionately did she devote her energies to the task that she did not hear the door open behind her, and never knew her sister was at her elbow until a soft ripply voice said suddenly:
"Well, Mr. General, is mess nearly ready for us?"
"Oh, Rosalie," cried Doris, flinging floury arms about the girl at her side. "Oh, you dear little darling, I am so glad you came."
"Why so mushy?" demanded Rosalie in a voice so soft and gurgling and throaty it made one think of tinkling waterfalls, and silver moonshine, and irresistible dimples. "Don't I always come? Why all the exclamations at me?"
"Because I love you, and because I am happy, and because—you scoot to the phone, will you, and call up Mr. James' residence and tell father I want him to come home to dinner to-night without fail, for very extra special reasons—apple dumplings, but you needn't tell him over the phone—and hurry, dear, before he leaves there."