A short time after this he went down into the back-yard, where Susan was sitting under a tree, stringing beans.
“Susan,” said he, sitting down on the grass not far from her, “do you know Mary Gurley? She’s a good cook, isn’t she?”
“She can cook,” said Susan. “All decent women can cook.”
“I mean,” said Chap, “can she make good pies and ginger-snaps and roly-poly puddings, and all that sort of thing?”
“You mean, can she cook for a boy,” said Susan. “Do you want her? I expect she can cook well enough for you.”
“Then she is a mighty good cook,” said Chap. “And do you think she could run a small girl like Jenny?”
“What do you mean?” asked Susan, putting down her beans and looking steadfastly at Chap.
“I mean,” said Chap, in his blandest tones, “that in a day or two Phil is likely to need a new cook and housekeeper, and I think he’ll want one rather given to pies. I’ve heard a good deal about Mary Gurley, and I thought I’d like your opinion of her before I recommend her to Phil.”
“You impudent, outrageous boy!” cried Susan, starting to her feet and letting her pan and beans fall together to the ground. “Do you mean that Philip Berkeley is thinking of discharging me and getting some one in my place?”
“Oh, yes, Susan,” said Chap, cheerfully. “Phil has been made master of this house, and if you don’t obey him he’ll have to bounce you. You can see that for yourself.”