and Fanny hated it, so that little person was in her glory, studying receipt books, and taking lessons whenever Polly could give them.
"Gracious me, Tom, don't come now; we are awful busy! Men don't belong in kitchens," cried Maud, as her brother appeared in the doorway.
"Couldn't think what you were about. Mum is asleep, and Fan out, so I loafed down to see if there was any fun afoot," said Tom, lingering, as if the prospect was agreeable. He was a social fellow, and very grateful just then to any one who helped him to forget his worries for a time. Polly knew this, felt that his society would not be a great affliction to herself, at least, and whispering to Maud, "He won't know," she added, aloud,—
"Come in if you like, and stir this cake for me; it needs a strong hand, and mine are tired. There, put on that apron to keep you tidy, sit here, and take it easy."
"I used to help grandma bat up cake, and rather liked it, if I remember right," said Tom, letting Polly tie a checked apron on him, put a big bowl into his hands, and settle him near the table, where Maud was picking raisins, and she herself stirring busily about among spice-boxes, rolling-pins, and butter-pots.
"You do it beautifully, Tom. I'll give you a conundrum to lighten your labor: Why are bad boys like cake?" asked Polly, anxious to cheer him up.
"Because a good beating makes them better. I doubt that myself, though," answered Tom, nearly knocking the bottom of the bowl out with his energetic demonstrations, for it really was a relief to do something.
