"Now something is going to happen," said Kat with prophetic certainty. "I feel it in my bones, and I bet you a postage-stamp it will be my fault."
"Then I'd advise you to be careful," said Kittie, taking a hurried peep into the oven.
"Never!" cried Kat. "Something would be sure to go wrong then; it always does when I'm trying my very level best to be a credit to my family. The only thing for me to do, is to go at it with a slap and a bang; then things twist about like proper magic."
"What nonsense!" said Kittie, breaking eggs with deft fingers. "Have you cleaned the lamps yet?"
"No, nor done much else either; it's too hot; the thermometer is boiling, down cellar, and Ralph said that I was so good natured that I'd turn to grease if I got too heated, so I'm being careful, you see," said Kat, with a lazy laugh; and she sat in the window and fanned, with the duster in one hand and the egg-beater in the other.
"Well, I think the parlors look so pretty," said Kittie, with an air of relief, as the last egg deposited its silvery white in the big platter. "What an addition a piano is, and how nicely the curtains are done up; everything seems to be going right."
"I smell the cake; it's burning!" cried Kat, jumping from her seat in a hurry; but Kittie threw open the oven, and jerked out the precious contents which did smell burnt, and was deep black right around one edge.
"What a shame!" she cried regretfully; but Kat resumed her seat with the comforting remark:
"Slice it over, and cover it up with icing; it will never show in the world; you see, if I hadn't been in here, it would have been burnt up."
"I guess I've got a nose," retorted Kittie, beginning to beat eggs with a swiftness that brought high color to her cheeks. "Now go on, Kat, and fix the lamps and help Bea, for she mustn't be on her foot much."