Laura went on steadily, and without smiling too broadly at Liz:
“There are seven of us girls and Mrs. Morse. We shall live very simply—in tents and in a cabin, on Acorn Island.”
“Eight in fam’bly, eh?” put in the thin girl. “Eight is a bigger contract than I got here.”
“Oh! in camping out we don’t expect anything fancy,” Laura hastened to say. “We want somebody to make beds, and wash dishes, and clean up generally. Of course, the cooking will not all fall on your shoulders––”
“I sh’d hope not,” said Liz, briskly. “Not if it was as solid as some folkses’ biscuits. One woman I worked for once made her soda-riz biscuits so solid that if a panful had fell on yer shoulders ’twould ha’ broke yer back.”
Jess had to explode at that, but the odd girl did not even smile. She only stared at the giggling Jess and asked:
“Ain’t ye well?”
“Oh, yes!” gasped Jess.
“Well, I didn’t know,” drawled Liz. “My a’nt what brought me up useter keep a bottle of giggle medicine for us gals. An’ it was nasty tastin’ stuff, too. She made us take a gre’t 41 spoonful if we laffed at table, or after we gotter bed nights. There was jala inter it, I b’lieve. I guess I could make ye some.”
Jess stopped laughing in a hurry. Laura tried to ignore her chum’s indignant look; but it was quite plain that Lizzie Bean “had all her wits about her,” as the saying is.