kitchen to rights.

At noon Charlotte and the boys were served with a light luncheon, with
the promise of greater joys to come, and by five in the afternoon the
house was filled with the delightful odours of successful cookery.

At that hour Charlotte, whose labours had been enlarged by herself to
cover a thorough overhauling of the entire house--such tasks being her
special aversion, and therefore to be discharged without mitigation on
this first day of self-sacrifice--wandered disconsolately into the
kitchen with broom and dust-pan, looking sadly weary. She gazed with
envious eyes at her sister, flying about in a big apron, with sleeves
rolled up, her cheeks like carnations, her eyes bright with triumph.

"Well, you do start in with vim," the younger sister observed, dropping
into a chair with a long sigh.

"Yes; and the work has gone better than I had hoped," declared Celia,
whisking a tinful of plump rolls into the oven. "It's really fun."

"I'm glad you like it."

"Poor child," said Celia, pausing to glance at the dejected figure in
the chair, its dark curls a riot of disorder, a smudge of black upon its
forehead, and its pinafore disreputable with frequent use as a duster,
"I gave you too much to do! Didn't I hear you in Delia's room? You
needn't have touched that to-day."

"Wanted to get through with it. Delia may be a good cook, but she left a
mess of a closet up-stairs. Please give me one of those warm cookies.