"There's a cold chicken for him," said his mother. "Also meat jelly, in a jar: I trust it's not broken by that unholy bumping last night of Mr. Smith's express wagon. What does Horrors do to earn his living, Tom?"
"He's supposed to do what he is told; but under Gordon he seems to have done very much what he liked," Tom answered. "He milks three cows, and feeds pigs and calves and fowls; and cuts wood, and draws water—no, he doesn't, there are taps, praise the pigs! He's just an odd-job boy—and quite at your disposal. His not to reason why!"
"He might do some of the rougher work, and the scrubbing," Aileen said. She knitted her brows. "I do feel so stupid—I don't know where to begin!"
"I don't blame you, with a house in what my old nurse used to call a dirty uproar," said her husband. "Let's hurl everything out of one front room on to the veranda and clean things there. Then we'll clean the room, and put the clean things back into it, and then we'll sit down in the clean midst of everything and smirk at the result. We shan't be clean, ourselves, by that time, but that's a detail. If we do that every day for a week you won't know our mansion!"
"It sounds a good plan," said Aileen enthusiastically. "Come on, and we'll begin." She reached the door, and then turned back, laughing.
"I quite forgot that if we didn't clear away the breakfast things, nobody would!" she said. "I must wash up."
"I'll help you, Mother," said Garth eagerly.
"Will you, sweetheart? Well, you can dry the things. And Tom, if you could get Horrors, you and he might begin the hurling-out of the furniture. Where is Horrors, by the way?"
"When I last saw him, he had eaten five eggs, and was beginning a sixth!" said her husband. "If he feels well enough, which seems doubtful, I'll get him at once. I'll fill the kettle for you. Don't go into the kitchen more than you can help, for it is in every sense a place of horrors. I saw fully five thousand cockroaches there last night."
"Ugh!" shuddered Aileen.