“Well, I’ve been poor in my time,” said Norah, tying on her clean, white apron and preparing to start her dinner, “but never have I been so starved that I could eat soap or, for that matter, a scrubbing brush or a towel, even if ’twas a clean one.”
Meg’s blue eyes widened in surprise, and then she laughed.
“Oh, Norah, how funny you are!” she cried. “You know I don’t want the soap for the poor people to eat! I want to wash the potatoes for them!”
And then it was Norah’s turn to laugh. She laughed till the tears came in her eyes and she had to take her clean apron to wipe them away.
“Meg, Meg, you’ll be the end of me yet!” laughed Norah. “Who ever heard of scrubbing potatoes with soap and water and using a towel to dry ’em? Won’t Sam snicker when I tell him!”
“I don’t see anything funny about that,” said Meg, edging toward the cellar door. “I want to take nice, clean potatoes and you wash those we eat, you know you do, Norah.”
“Yes, child, that I do,” admitted Norah kindly and her voice was sober though her eyes still twinkled. “But water and a good stiff brush will be all your potatoes need. They’ll dry of themselves and you won’t need the towel; and the soap would spoil ’em completely if the poor people should be wistful to have ’em baked.”
“Meg, what you doing? Did you get the soap yet?” shouted Bobby from the bottom of the cellar steps.
“Here’s the brush,” said Norah, hastily giving Meg the small vegetable brush from the shelf over the sink. “Now be off with you and don’t let me find water all over the laundry floor either; drowning Dot in water isn’t going to help the poor folks.”
Meg ran down the steps and joined the other children who were exceedingly busy. Bobby was sorting over the apples in the apple bin and trying to keep Twaddles from eating the perfect ones he selected. Dot had filled the laundry tubs with hot water and was only waiting Meg’s return to put in the turnips and potatoes to be thoroughly washed. As for Twaddles, he was walking up and down before the preserve closet, munching apples, and trying to decide which jar of preserves he would choose. Mother Blossom had promised each of the children one jar of jelly, jam or canned fruit, to take to school.