"Yes, he did. He said, 'Why, me skin was wet!'—just as if it hurt him. So he had to take them all off and put them in the oven, and he went to bed till they were dry."
"Well, you have got more interesting information out of Horrors than I should have believed possible," said Tom. "He never does more than grunt when I speak to him."
"He only speaks in grunts, any time," said Garth. "Only sometimes, if you listen hard, his grunts seem to mean something."
"You fill me with hope—I'll listen harder in future," said Aileen, laughing. "Sonnie, are my scones done?"
They were sitting in what Garth insisted on calling "the new kitchen"; Aileen darning socks swiftly, while Garth and his father sat on the table—which, having refused to look clean under any scrubbing, was now covered with white oilcloth. Preparations for afternoon tea were upon it, and a pleasant smell of baking filled the air.
Garth hopped down eagerly, and peeped through the glass door of the oven.
"They've risen ever so, and they're turning a lovely brown," he announced. "I'm so hungry, Mother—don't you think they're done?"
"Very nearly, I think," said his mother, coming to join the inspection, while Tom lent an inquiring eye over their shoulders. "They do look pretty good, don't they? Cooking is so exciting; I don't feel as if I would ever learn to feel calm while I turned out a pudding!"
"If you go on as well as you have begun you'll soon cease to worry," said Tom, preparing to make tea.
"I don't know." She shook her head. "Think of the pie the other day!"