“We want a lot of stores, Father,” said Jo. “Luckily Sarah has them down on the kitchen slate, or we wouldn’t know what was needed. I’ll make a list presently.”
“Do—and put down what sort of sweets you like. I don’t believe you’ve had any for a month.”
“No sweets until rain comes,” said Jean determinedly.
“Who says so?”
“We do.”
“Well, I haven’t said it yet,” remarked Mr. Weston, with a twinkle. “However, we won’t discuss the point; it’s too hot. I’ll be ready in ten minutes, if that will do, girls.”
Breakfast over, and the boys arrayed in garments suitable for a day in Barrabri—“and what’s more important, for meeting Mother, so just you keep clean, young Billy!” warned his sisters—the remaining housework was swiftly accomplished, and the twins retired to the kitchen. There was a savoury odour of hot scones when Mr. Weston put his head in half an hour later.
“I’m off, girls,” he said. “Sure you have put everything on the list?”
“Why, I hope so,” said Jean, taking floury hands from a yellow mixing-bowl, and endeavouring fruitlessly to rub her eye with her elbow. “Aren’t the flies awful! The list is so long that you won’t want any additions to it, Father. Whatever you do, bring the seventy-pound bag of sugar; there are only a few pounds in the house, and we have to make jam to-morrow.”
“I won’t forget,” Father nodded. “Poor little cooks, you do look hot! Josephine, my daughter, are you trying to bake yourself?”