A Lamplighter trim you see Whenever you look at me; You may sneer, you may flout, But you can’t put me out, For I am as bright as can be.
The Cooking Club girls are we, As happy as we can be, Whether walking or riding Or skating or sliding, Or sitting at dinner or tea.
“How absurd!” said Hester. “We can’t skate or slide in September.”
“That’s poetic license,” explained Nan, calmly, “but of course you’re too English to see the joke.”
“Well, it’s a good tune,” said Hester; “let’s write verses for the rest.”
Many heads make light work, and though some of the girls did more than others, all helped, and the result was this fine collection of stanzas:
Oh, I am the Peeler serene, Though never at peeling I’m seen. The girls say I’m lazy— I think they are crazy; There’s nothing about me that’s green.
A Camera Fiend you see; A sister to you I’ll be. We’re both of us making A business of taking— I’ll take you, and you can take me.
Oh, I am the Chaperon gay; I sing and I whistle all day. And though I don’t shirk My share of the work, I’d much rather run out and play.
A Wandering Minstrel I— My voice ’way up in the sky; My banjo I’m picking, While others are kicking, Though I can’t imagine why.
Oh, I am the Scullery-maid; Of kitchen work I’m afraid; While I should be scrubbing, My wits I am rubbing, To shine in the Poet’s trade.
It seems to be my fate To be Poet Laureate; Though I always am shrinking From doing much thinking, I’d far rather polish the grate.
I’m a Cook of undoubted skill; The girls praise my dishes, but still— I cannot tell why— After eating my pie They always are awfully ill.
“That’s a fine chorus; let’s practise it now,” said Marjorie. So Helen played her banjo, and the girls all sang until, to their great surprise, they found it was dinner-time.
ONCE started, the play monopolized all the interest and attention of the club.
Aunt Molly was called over and the great project was laid before her.
“Why, it will be lovely, girlies,” she said. “What can I do to help?”
“We need sympathy and advice,” said Marjorie, with the judicial air that marked the Duchess’s serious moments.
“Oh, I’ll give you those,” said Aunt Molly, “but I want to be of more material help. Suppose I provide you with an audience.”