Out they went; and there were so many errands on the hands of aunt Judith and Mrs. Farnham just then, that the girls had the kitchen stove to themselves for a few moments. Pen may have been six years younger, but she was conscious of a feeling of immense superiority in her capacity of cook. She kept it until, as she was going over, for Susie's benefit, a list of her neighbors, and telling what had become of them since the summer visit, Mr. Farnham came in at the kitchen-door, and almost instantly exclaimed,—
"Mind your waffles, Pen. You're burning 'em."
"Why, so I did,—that one, just a little. I was telling Susie"—
"A little, my child!" interrupted aunt Judith. "I'd as lief eat burnt leather. Oh, dear! give me those irons."
"Now, aunt Judith, please fill 'em up for Susie to try. I want to show her how."
The look on Susie's face was quite enough to keep aunt Judith from making a breath of objection, and the rich creamy batter was poured into the smoking moulds.
"Don't you let it burn, Susie," said Pen. "They want to come out when they're just a good brown. I'll show you."
Susie set out to watch the fate of that waffle most diligently; but she had not at all counted on what might come in the mean time,—a visitor, for instance.
Susie had already asked about the Stebbinses, and Pen had answered,—
"They know you're coming. Vosh was here this very morning, and I told him; and he said he'd be glad to have you call and see him."