"Ho, ho!" said Mary Frances, "that must be so. How many can you hold?"

"Oh, about thirty, I guess," swelling with pride.

"Well," said Mary Frances, "you've no notion how many that boy can eat, and there isn't much else for lunch. I guess I'll cook about twelve,"--and counting them out, she began to wash them.

"Be sure to get all the sand out of their eyes," laughed Boiler Pan.

"But first, will you help me jump up on the stove, and fill me?--then I can boil while you're 'ringing' the potatoes."

This done, he was very quiet, while she finished the potatoes.

Just then the clock struck eleven.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The clock struck eleven.]

"Why, I must hurry," exclaimed Mary Frances.

"I'm ready," bubbled Boiler Pan.

"Oh, yes, I'm coming," and she dropped the potatoes in one by one.

"Now, put on my hat," said Boiler Pan, and Mary Frances put on the lid.

"Are they all right?" asked the little girl.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Swelling with pride.]

"All right!" he answered in a m.u.f.fled voice.

Mary Frances then went in the dining-room, and busied herself about setting the table.

Soon, she heard a "rumpus" in the kitchen. She ran out. Bubbles were sputtering over the sides of Boiler Pan, and the lid was dancing a jig.

"What shall I do? What shall I do?" cried Mary Frances, jumping up and down.

"This hat's crazy! Take it off, quick!" Boiler Pan besought her.

Without thinking, she seized the lid with her fingers, but dropped it with a cry of pain.

"I'm scalded, I'm scalded," she sobbed. "What will I do for it?" and she ran for some cold water.

"Don't do that, child," said Aunty Rolling Pin. "b.u.t.ter it and then powder it with baking soda the way your mother does."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Don't do that child."]

"I'm so sorry," said Boiler Pan, "but I really couldn't get my old hat off. I should have told you to take a holder."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "This hat's crazy!"]

"Never mind, it's better now. Those potatoes must be done. Yes," as she tried them with a fork, "even the biggest is done in the middle. I'm so glad, for I expect that boy any minute."

"So'm I," said Boiler Pan, "for I feel the effect of this stren-u-os-i-ty."

Mary Frances pretended not to notice this speech, but carefully drained the water from the potatoes, and shook Boiler Pan over the fire to dry them off.

"I--I--learned--that--that--wor--word--after year--years--of--stud--study," he said between the shakes, "and you--nev--never--notic--noticed----"

But Billy was knocking.

So Mary Frances, hastily putting Boiler Pan on the back of the stove, ran to let him in.

"h.e.l.lo, Sister! Here we are! Lunch ready?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "h.e.l.lo, Sister."]

"Yes, all ready. I'll put it on. You sit in Father's place, and we'll play we're grown up."

"Scrumptious!" exclaimed Billy, as Mary Frances set the smoking dish of potatoes on the table.

"What an excellent cook you must have, Madam," he said, after his first taste. "Such good potatoes!"

"I have ten," said Mary Frances.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Let's give it to Jubey."]

"Ten! You are fortunate, indeed, Madam," said Billy, for all the world as though he were a grown-up young gentleman. "How quiet they keep."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"Yes," laughed Mary Frances, "but they're 'most always busy," and she held up her ten pink little fingers.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I have ten," said Mary Frances.]

"Oh, Billy," she added earnestly, "I'm so glad you like them--the potatoes, I mean. There is only one left--won't you have that?"

"Oh, let's give that to Jubey--Jubey might be hurt if you didn't let her try them. I would,--if I were Jubey."

CHAPTER VII

THE POT-AND-KETTLE FIGHT

"GOOD morning, Kitchen People," said Mary Frances, after breakfast next day, "this is a very important morning with me."

The Kitchen People looked pleased and important, too.