Rosie groaned. “I know what it will look like,” she commented. “Now I can make a bed,” she boasted. “Right after we finish this, I’ll take you upstairs and show you both. Now, how about cooking?”
Maida looked aghast. “I never cooked anything in my life.”
“That’s what I thought,” Rosie remarked grimly. “How about cooking, Laura?”
“I can make pop-overs, one-two-three-four cake and cup-custard,” Laura stated proudly. “And, oh yes, fudge!”
“Is that all?” Rosie asked scornfully.
“Yes,” Laura admitted.
“Can either of you make a fire?” Rosie went on.
Two meek noes were the answer.
“Well, as far as I can see,” Rosie decided, “we’ve got to begin at the very beginning. Now I’ve been thinking this matter over and it seems to me there’s only one fair way of doing it and that is for us to weed the flower garden all together every morning; each one of us to take care of their own room—”
“Her own room,” Maida corrected. She added roguishly, “I thought you were beginning to feel too important, Rosie.”