“Oh, let me carry them!”
“No, let me!”
“I’ll do it!”
And to a chorus of a score or so other such pleas, the eggs were borne triumphantly into the dining room and set carefully on the table.
“Now the biscuits!” cried Connie, running back into the kitchen where her mother was just heaping another platter high with golden brown deliciousness.
“Oh, Mother,” said Connie, darting a kiss at her mother that landed just exactly on the tip of Mrs. Danvers’ pretty astonished nose, “everything you cook always looks just exactly like you.”
Then she disappeared with the biscuits, leaving her mother to rub her nose and smile somewhat proudly.
“I guess it must have been a compliment,” she chuckled, as she followed Connie with a second plate of biscuits, “for they always seem to like what I cook.”
The girls were already waiting politely but impatiently for her. She was about to sit down when she thought of Mr. Danvers. She looked hastily at Connie.
“I told your father I’d send you after him when breakfast was ready,” she said; and Connie looked dismayed.