"I don't know; might put it in the oven; it would get hot there. There's a good oven."
"I don't think mamma ever warms cold beefsteak," said Matilda, looking puzzled.
"What does she do with it? she don't throw it away. How do you know she doesn't warm it? you wouldn't know, when you saw it on the table, whether it was just fresh cooked, or only warmed up. How could you tell?"
"Well," said Matilda, dubiously, "you can try. I wish I could ask somebody."
"I shall not ask anybody up-stairs," said Maria. "Come—you take the potatoes and I will carry the beefsteak. Then we will make 'the coffee and have breakfast. I'm as hungry as I can be."
"So am I," said Matilda. And she sighed a little, for she was tired as well as hungry. Maria set the dish of beefsteak in the oven to get hot, and Matilda made the coffee. She knew quite well how to do that. Then she came to the table where Maria was preparing the potatoes to fry. Maria's knife was going chop, chop, very fast.
"O Maria! you should have peeled them," Matilda exclaimed, in dismay.
"Peeled!" said Maria, stopping short.
"Certainly. Why, you knew that, Maria. Potatoe parings are not good to eat."
"It takes ages to peel such little potatoes," said Maria.