"Wha—at are you go—oing to do?"
"Bathe your face for you and set you down on the deck to cool off," replied Harriet.
"You knew all the time that there wasn't any oven," sobbed Buster.
"Yes, of course I did. So should you have known. I let you go on—"
"Because you are mean," interjected the unhappy Margery.
"No. To teach you to use your eyes. You should learn to be observing. Didn't you hear us talking about that oven when Jane brought home the stove?"
"Ye—es. I had forgotten."
"Of course you had. Now get ready for supper. To-morrow I will make an oven of stones on the shore and you shall make your custard and you shall have it all to yourself, if you wish, just to punish us for being so mean to you. Will that satisfy you, Buster?"
"Ye—ye—yes," answered Buster, with three distinct catches in her voice.
"Come, now, dry your eyes, that's a dear," urged Harriet. "Tommy!"