"I'm so glad," said Prudy, putting on her hat, "that we can go to housekeeping again."
They had built a shingle palace on the bank of the river. It was as white as chalk could make it, and glared like a snowdrift out of a clump of evergreens which were no taller than dandelions.
"Our house is shaded so much," said Prudy, "that it makes me think of a lady with hair over her eyes."
The entrance to the little palace was through a swinging door, of white cloth, and from the roof fluttered a small flag. There were four rooms in the house, all of them on the ground floor. The parlor was elegantly furnished with a braided carpet, of striped grass, a piano, whose black and white keys were put on with coal and chalk, not to mention other articles of luxury. The table was spread with acorn-cups and poppy teapots, the little housekeepers being advised not to make use of their china dishes for this establishment.
There was a very black stove in the kitchen, but the most of the cooking was done out of doors, farther down the bank, in ovens shaped like swallows' nests. Here were baked delicious mud cakes, tempting currant tarts, and dainty custards.
Nothing pleased Miss Dimple so well as to govern a household. She ruled with a rod of iron.
In the midst of a caution to her servant-maid, Prudy, "not to burn her biscuits as black as so'-leather," she was surprised to see her twinkling off a tear.
"O, Prudy, I didn't mean to scold," said she, in the tenderest tones.
"Poh, as if I minded your make-believe, Dotty! I was only thinking about aunt Madge—that's all."
"What has she done?" asked Dotty as she went on stamping her mud cake with the head of a pin.