“You bet I—”
“Here are your eggs,” said Alta, tripping through the door; “and here come Mrs. Willis and Mary to help out.”
“Good fer us!” exclaimed Aunt ‘Liza; “we need their help. Come in, Marthy.”
“I thought you’d have your hands full trying to get ready for the crowd that’s coming. What can we do?” said Mrs. Willis, a motherly, helpful spirit, with a touch of refinement in her voice and manner. She had recently come from the city to try ranching, her husband’s health having begun to break at too close work in the store.
“You might make the cookies, Mrs. Willis. I’ll clear this table for you. And Mary can pitch in with Alta peelin’ the apples fer the pies, if she will. Sally, you jest make that rice puddin’. I’ll git these dishes washed. The bread’s baked, and the boys have got the steer a-roastin’. I guess we’ll git through; but it’s worse than feedin’ the threshers.”
“Of course we shall,” said Alta; “Aunt ‘Liza’s a good manager. I only wish I could handle the kitchen half so well.”
“You could if you’d keep your head on it; but a body can’t cook and read poetry at the same time; still you do mighty well,” said Aunt ‘Liza, inwardly pleased with the praise. “Here comes Mrs. Moffat. Glad to see her, too. Good mornin’, Sarah Jane, come right in.”
“Looks like you need another hand, ‘Liza. What can I do to help?”
“Set down with the girls there, if you will, and show ’em how to peel apples. I’m afraid they’re wastin’ too much.”
“All right; move ’round, Mary, and let’s have an apple peelin’ bee, like we used to have in pioneer days.”