“I didn’t say so, but of course I will,” said Mr. Weston, laughing. “Never say I’m not a well-trained parent!”
“I’ll never say you’re not an understanding one,” Jean said. “Breakfast will be ready whenever you and the boys are. Won’t the urchins be delighted at a day in Barrabri!”
“We want a lot of stores, Father,” said Jo. “Luckily Sarah has them down on the kitchen slate, or we wouldn’t know what was needed. I’ll make a list presently.”
“Do—and put down what sort of sweets you like. I don’t believe you’ve had any for a month.”
“No sweets until rain comes,” said Jean determinedly.
“Well, I haven’t said it yet,” remarked Mr. Weston, with a twinkle. “However, we won’t discuss the point; it’s too hot. I’ll be ready in ten minutes, if that will do, girls.”
Breakfast over, and the boys arrayed in garments suitable for a day in Barrabri—“and what’s more important, for meeting Mother, so just you keep clean, young Billy!” warned his sisters—the remaining housework was swiftly accomplished, and the twins retired to the kitchen. There was a savoury odour of hot scones when Mr. Weston put his head in half an hour later.
“I’m off, girls,” he said. “Sure you have put everything on the list?”
“Why, I hope so,” said Jean, taking floury hands from a yellow mixing-bowl, and endeavouring fruitlessly to rub her eye with her elbow. “Aren’t the flies awful! The list is so long that you won’t want any additions to it, Father. Whatever you do, bring the seventy-pound bag of sugar; there are only a few pounds in the house, and we have to make jam to-morrow.”
“I won’t forget,” Father nodded. “Poor little cooks, you do look hot! Josephine, my daughter, are you trying to bake yourself?”
“It happens without any trying, in this weather,” Jo answered. She was kneeling in front of the open oven, which gave back her voice with a hollow sound. “I wish they’d taught us at school _why_ a cake suddenly rises in the middle and explodes! It looks weird, and I’m sure it won’t be wholesome.” Shutting the oven-door carefully, she scrambled to her feet. “It is so simple to cook things in class, with gas-stoves and Miss Smith—this oven seems to have the Equator in the middle and the North Pole at one side!”
“Don’t you worry,” said Father consolingly. “It smells tremendously good, and the scones are splendid.” He looked at his daughters, a little wrinkle in his brow. “Don’t work too hard, twinses. Mother will be vexed if she finds you knocked up.”