“Izhe a-goin’ to bake dis uvver one any how,” said Toddie, putting the single remaining pan into the oven and closing the door. “Say, Aunt Alice,” he continued, his good, nature returning, “now fix dat tea-party we was goin’ to have wif our own fings. You can come to the table wif us if you want to.”
“Only, don’t you think she ought to bring somethin’ with her?” asked Budge. “That’ the way little boys’s tea-parties out of doors always are.”
Mrs. Burton herself rendered a satisfactory decision upon this question by making a small pitcher of lemonade: the table was drawn as near the door as possible, to avoid the heat of the room; Budge escorted his aunt to the seat of honor, and, when all were seated, he asked:
“Do you think these is enough things to ask a blessin’ over? Sometimes we do it, an’ sometimes we don’t, ’cordin’ to how much we’ve got.”
Mrs. Burton rapidly framed a small explanatory lecture on the principle under-lying the custom of grace at meals; but whatever may have been its merits the boys never had an opportunity of judging, for suddenly a loud report startled the party, a piece of the stove flew violently across the room and broke against the wall, the stove-lids shivered violently and the doors fell open; the poker, which had lain on the stove, danced frantically, and a small pan of some sort of fat, such as some cooks have a fancy to be always doing something with but never do it, was shaken over and its burning contents began to diffuse a sickening odor. The cook dropped upon her knees, the party arose—Budge roaring, Toddie screaming, and Mrs. Burton very pale, while the cook gasped:
“The wather-back’s busted!”
Mrs. Burton disengaged herself from her clinging nephews and approached the range cautiously. There was no sign of water and the back of the range was undisturbed; even the fire was not disarranged.
A LOUD REPORT STARTLED THE PARTY
“It isn’t the water-back,” said Mrs. Burton, “nor the fire. What could it have been?”