It was the morning following the day of the earthquake, and of Aunt
Penelope's arrival. Sam had his back to Dot, and his face to the fire,
over which indeed he had bent for so long that he appeared to be half
roasted.

"What do you want?" asked Dot, who was working at a doll's night-dress
that had for long been partly finished, and now seemed in a fair way to
completion.

"It's the glue-pot," Sam continued. "It does take so long to boil. And
I have been stirring at the glue with a stick for ever so long to get
it to melt. It is very hot work. I wish you would take it for a bit.
It's as much for your good as for mine."

"Is it?" said Dot.

"Yes, it is, Miss," cried Sam. "You must know I've got a splendid
idea."

"Not another earthquake, I hope?" said Dot, smiling.

"Now, Dot, that's truly unkind of you. I thought it was to be
forgotten."

"So it is," said Dot, getting up. "I was only joking. What is the
idea?"

"I don't think I shall tell you till I have finished my shop. I want to
get to it now, and I wish you would take a turn at the glue-pot."