"Mary Frances is guilty," laughed Billy; and Mary Frances "owned up."
"Mother," said she, bringing her worn and somewhat soiled little cook book and putting it in her Mother's lap, "I've made everything! I've gone 'all through' my book! I got dinner to-night!—that's your surprise."
"My own dear, lovely child!" said Mother. "You dear, precious baby-woman!" And taking Mary Frances in her lap, she hugged and kissed her again and again.
* * * * * * *
"I'm awfully sorry I couldn't exactly explain about you—you dear Kitchen People," whispered Mary Frances, going out to bid them good-night. "If it hadn't been for you, I never, never could have done it,—my dear, dear, friends."
"You'll not need us soon again," said Tea Kettle, sadly. "We're sorry—yet we're glad that your mother will take our place as teacher now."
"Will you help me when I do need you?" asked Mary Frances.
"When you do," they promised, and she threw them a kiss.