"Yes, yes, ever so long ago. We are waiting for you. There is the nicest pudding for dinner that we have had for ever so long, but daddy says we mustn't begin it till you all come. Oh, do make haste."
Irene came flying down the stairs. "I am so sorry to be so long," she cried apologetically, "the string of my apron got into a knot, and I really began to think I should have to wear it at dinner."
"I am late, and have no excuse," thought Audrey dejectedly. "I never have one."
"I shall be glad to see anyone, no matter what they are wearing," said Mr. Carlyle, coming to the door. "Who is that talking of kitchen aprons?"
Irene looked at him with merry eyes laughing above her flushed cheeks. "Please, sir, it's the new cook," she said, dropping him a curtsey.
CHAPTER XII.
"Ugh! how horrid they feel! I think that is the very worst part of dish-washing, don't you, Irene?"
Audrey sat in a kitchen chair with her hands held out stiffly before her. She had just washed all the beautiful things, and Irene had wiped them. Now, after wiping out the dish-pan, and spreading the dish-cloth to dry, she had sat down while she dried her hands on the runner. She was tired, and her feet ached; the weather was hot, and she had been busy ever since she had got up.
For more than a fortnight now, she and Irene had inaugurated a new state of affairs at the Vicarage, and, to her surprise, she found that she was growing to enjoy the work. She certainly enjoyed the results, and felt proud of them. And, oh, how proud and happy she was when her father remarked on the improvement.