"Speak with them! Of course I do!" she cried. "Tell them to come around to the side gate. I'll _speak_ to them," and she drew herself up like an angry hen.

"Did--did they smash a window?" asked Mr. Peterkin.

"Smash a window? I only wish it was no worse than that!" cried his wife.

"They threw their nasty baseball into a kettle of apple sauce that was stewing on the stove, and the sauce splashed all over my clean kitchen.

Tell them to come around. I'll _speak_ to them!"

"I--I guess you'd better come in, boys," said Mr. Peterkin softly, as he delivered the message over the fence. Then he added--but to himself--"Maybe you might better have run while you had the chance."

"We're in for it I guess," murmured Tom, as he and Joe went around to the side gate.

CHAPTER XV

JOE OVERHEARS SOMETHING

"Are you the boys who threw the baseball through my kitchen window into my kettle of apple sauce?" demanded Mrs. Peterkin, as she confronted the two culprits.

"I threw it," admitted Joe.

"But we didn't know it went into the apple sauce," added Tom.

"Nor through the window," spoke Joe for want of something better to say.

"It was a wild throw."

"Humph!" exclaimed the irate lady. "I don't know what kind of a throw it was but I know _I_ was wild when I saw my kitchen. I never saw such a sight in all my born days--never! You come and look at it."

"If--if you please I'd rather not," said Joe quickly. "I'll pay you whatever damages you say, but I--I----"

"I just want you to see that kitchen!" insisted Mrs. Peterkin. "It's surprising how mischievous boys can be when they try."

"But we didn't try," put in Tom. "This was an accident."

"Come and see my kitchen!" repeated Mrs. Peterkin firmly and she seemed capable of taking them each by an ear and leading them in.

"You--you'd better go," advised Mr. Peterkin gently.

So they went, and truly the sight that met their eyes showed them that Mrs. Peterkin had some excuse for being angry. On the stove there had been cooking a large kettle of sauce made from early apples. The window near the stove had been left open and through the cas.e.m.e.nt the ball, thrown with all Joe's strength, had flown, landing fairly into the middle of the soft sauce.

The result may easily be imagined. It splattered all over the floor, half way up on the side walls, and there were even spots of the sauce on the ceiling. The top of the stove was covered with it, and as the lids were hot they had burned the sugar to charcoal, while the kitchen was filled with smoke and fumes.

"There!" cried Mrs. Peterkin, as she waved her hand at the scene of ruin. "Did you ever see such a kitchen as that? And it was clean scrubbed only this morning! Did you ever see anything like that? Tell me!"

Joe and Tom were both forced to murmur that they had never beheld such a sight before. And they added with equal but unexpressed truth that they hoped they never would again.

"I'm willing to pay for the damage," said Joe once more, and his hand went toward his pocket. "It was an accident."

"Maybe it was," sniffed Mrs. Peterkin. "I won't say that it wasn't, but that won't clean my kitchen."

Joe caught at these words.

"I'm willing to help you clean up!" he exclaimed eagerly. "I often help at home when my mother is sick. Let me do it, and I'll pay for the apple sauce I spoiled."

"I'll help," put in Tom eagerly.

"Who is your mother?" asked Mrs. Peterkin, looking at Joe.

"Mrs. Matson," he replied.

"Oh, you're the new family that moved into town?" and there was something of a change in the irate lady's manner.

"Yes, we live in the big yellow house near----"

"It's right back of our place, Mrs. Peterkin," put in Tom eagerly.

"Hum! I've been intending to call on your mother," went on Mrs.

Peterkin, ignoring Tom. "I always call on all the new arrivals in town, but I've been so busy with my housework and Spring cleaning----"

She paused and gazed about the kitchen. _That_, at least, would need cleaning over again.

"Yes," she resumed, "I always call and invite them to join our Sewing and Dorcas Societies."

"My mother belonged to both!" exclaimed Joe eagerly. "That is in Bentville where we lived. I heard her saying she wondered if there was a society here."

"There is," answered Mrs. Peterkin majestically, "and I think I shall call soon, and ask her to join. You may tell her I said so," she added as if it was a great honor.

"I will," answered Joe. "And now if you'll tell me where I can get some old cloths I'll help clean up this muss."

"Oh, I don't know," said Mrs. Peterkin slowly. Clearly her manner had undergone a great change. "I suppose boys must have their fun," she said with something like a sigh. "I know you didn't mean to do it, but my apple sauce is spoiled."

"I'll pay for it," offered Joe eagerly. He was beginning to see a rift in the trouble clouds.

"No," said Mrs. Peterkin, "it's all right. I have plenty more apples."

"Then let us help clean the place?" asked Tom.

"No, indeed!" she exclaimed, with as near a laugh as she ever indulged.

"I don't want any men folks traipsing around my kitchen. I'll clean it myself."

"Well, let us black the stove for you," offered Tom.

"That's it, Alvirah," put in Mr. Peterkin quickly. He rather sided with the boys, and he was glad that the mention of Joe's mother, and the possibility of Mrs. Peterkin getting a new member for the societies, of both of which she was president, had taken her mind off her desire for revenge. "Let the boys black the stove. You know you always hate that work."

"Well, I suppose they could do _that_," she admitted somewhat reluctantly. "But don't splatter it all over, though the land knows this kitchen can't be worse."