I thought it best to tell Ethelbertha the truth; that things had gone wrong with the kitchen stove.
“Let me know the worst,” she said. “Is Veronica hurt?”
“The worst,” I said, “is that I shall have to pay for a new range. Why, when anything goes amiss, poor Veronica should be assumed as a matter of course to be in it, appears to me unjust.”
“You are sure she’s all right?” persisted Ethelbertha.
“Honest Injun—confound those children and their slang—I mean positively,” I answered. The Little Mother looked relieved.
I told her all the trouble we had had in connection with the cow. Her sympathies were chiefly with the cow. I told her I had hopes of Robina’s developing into a sensible woman. We talked quite a deal about Robina. We agreed that between us we had accomplished something rather clever.
“I must get back as soon as I can,” I said. “I don’t want young Bute getting wrong ideas into his head.”
“Who is young Bute?” she asked.
“The architect,” I explained.
“I thought he was an old man,” said Ethelbertha.