“Yes, I got one for each of us the other day, and a can of paint to be ready when there was time. Then, father I wonder if you couldn’t put up some brackets, and fix those old marbles for me.”
“Marbles?”
“Yes, those old marbles that came off the wash-stand and bureau that fell to pieces. They are out in the back shed, and I want one of them put on the dresser, screwed on, you know, so I can use it for a molding-board, and the other two, the back and top of the old wash-stand put up on brackets for shelves in the kitchen, near the sink. They’ll save buying oilcloth, and be lovely to work on, and simply delightful to clean.”
“Why, I guess I can fix them. There’s an old marble-topped table around somewhere, too.”
“I know; I’m going to paint the woodwork white, and get some ball-bearing casters for it, and use it in the kitchen to work on. Then I can wheel it around where I need it, over by the sink when I’m washing dishes, over by the stove to hold the bowl of batter when I’m baking cakes.”
“Say, that’ll be great!” cried Louise. “Oh! I never realized a kitchen could be pretty. Why, I’d like to wash dishes in a place like that—all white! Say, Nellie, is that a part of interior decorating? Kitchens?”
“Surely!” smiled the sister. “We want to make it pleasant where we have to work the most. Now let’s get these dishes out of the way first, and then you children put on your oldest clothes, something that won’t be hurt with the paint; and we’ll go to work.”
“You ought to have one of those ’lectric dish-washers, Nell,” said Harry energetically, getting up with a pile of dishes and starting toward the kitchen. “They got one down to the store on exhibition. Say, it’s great! You just stick ’em in, and they come out all washed and dried. I’ll buy you one some day when I get ahead a little.”
“Do,” said Cornelia warmly, smiling. “That would be wonderful!”
And so in the bustle and eagerness the disappointment over Carey was somewhat forgotten. They all worked away happily together until ten o’clock, painting and pounding and scrubbing; and, when they finally put up the brushes and went to bed, the kitchen was in a fair way toward reconstruction. The window-frames had lost their grimy, years-old green paint under a first coat of white; the doors had been sandpapered and primed; the side walls had been patched with plaster-of-Paris and received a coat of shellac. Everything began to look clean and hopeful.