“No, indeed!” she exclaimed, with as near a laugh as she ever indulged. “I don’t want any men folks traipsing around my kitchen. I’ll clean it myself.”
“Well, let us black the stove for you,” offered Tom.
“That’s it, Alvirah,” put in Mr. Peterkin quickly. He rather sided with the boys, and he was glad that the mention of Joe’s mother, and the possibility of Mrs. Peterkin getting a new member for the societies, of both of which she was president, had taken her mind off her desire for revenge. “Let the boys black the stove. You know you always hate that work.”
“Well, I suppose they could do that,” she admitted somewhat reluctantly. “But don’t splatter it all over, though the land knows this kitchen can’t be worse.”
Behold then, a little later, two of the members of the Silver Star nine industriously cleaning hardened apple sauce off the Peterkin kitchen stove, and blackening it until it shone brightly.
“I’m glad Sam Morton can’t see us,” spoke Tom in a whisper.
“Yes; we’d never hear the last of it,” agreed Joe.
They finished the work and even Mrs. Peterkin, careful housekeeper that she was, admitted that the stove “looked fairly good.”
“And be sure and tell your mother that I’m coming to call on her,” she added, as Joe and Tom were about to leave.