"Yes, things are always having to be buttered, aren't they—pans, and dishes, and cups—" he paused vaguely.
Her laugh echoed like a chime of miniature bells.
"I am sorry to say the pan is already buttered," replied she. "What other accomplishments have you?"
"Oh, I can do anything I am told," came eagerly from Bob.
"That's something, anyway. Then fetch me some flour, please."
"Flour?"
"It's in the barrel. No, that's the sugar bowl. The barrel under the shelf."
"The barrel! To be sure. Barrel ahoy! How could I have mistaken its sylph-like form? How much flour do you want?"
"Just a little."
She passed the sieve to him and went to inspect the oven.