“Oh! Oh!” murmured Janet. And then she remembered what a state she was in—milk and pie dough down the front of her apron. She thought of how the kitchen looked—milk and pie dough all over the floor. “Oh! Oh!” murmured the little girl again.
Mrs. Keller had once had children of her own, though they were now grown up, married and moved away. But she remembered some of the sad and worrisome spots of childhood, and she must have guessed how Janet felt.
“There, my dear!” she said kindly, “don’t worry. It was an accident, I’m sure, and couldn’t have been helped. Never mind how you look, or how the kitchen looks. I’m coming out to help you clean up.”
“Oh,” sighed Janet, “I—I guess it needs it.”
And if ever a kitchen did need cleaning up, it was the Martin kitchen at that moment.
However, Mrs. Keller did not exclaim, or say “what a dreadful sight!” or anything like that. She just smiled, patted Janet on her shoulder in a friendly way, and said:
“Now, don’t worry. It won’t take long, and we’ll soon have everything as clean as when mother went away. And, if you’ll let me, I’ll finish making the pie for you.”
“But we haven’t any cinnamon,” said Janet.
“I know where there’s some!” exclaimed Ted. “I took the box out the other day when Norah was making apple sauce, and I put it up on another shelf. I remember now. I’ll get it.”
“Then if we have cinnamon, and you had all the rest of what was needed, there is no reason in the world why I can’t make an apple pie,” said Mrs. Keller. “It won’t be the first one I have made!” she added, with a laugh.