"But you cannot eat them without being peeled," said Matilda.
"Yes, you can; it won't make any difference. I will fry them so brown, nobody will know whether they have skins on or not."
Matilda doubted very much the feasibility of this plan; but she left Maria and went off to make sure that the fires in the other rooms were burning right and everything in proper trim. Then she sat down in a rocking-chair in the eating-room to rest; wishing very earnestly that there was somebody to help who knew more about business than either she or Maria. How were they to get along? And she had promised her mother. And yet more, Matilda felt sure that just this work had been given to her and Maria to do by the Lord himself. Therefore they could do it for Him. Therefore, all the more, Matilda wanted to do it in the very nicest and best way possible. She wished she had attended when she had seen her mother cooking different things; now she might have known exactly how to manage. And that reminded her, Maria's beef and potatoes must be done. She ran into the kitchen.
"There!" said Maria. "Can you see the skins now?"
"They are brown enough," said Matilda. "But, Maria, they'll be very hard!"
"Never you mind!" said Maria, complacently.
"Have you looked at your beefsteak?"
"No; but it must be hot before now."
Maria opened the oven door; and then, with an exclamation, seized a cloth and drew out the dish of meat. The dish took their attention first. It was as brown as Maria's potatoes. It had gone into the oven white.
"It is spoiled," said Matilda.