get 'em tender,'' fumed Billy, despairingly. ``I
suppose they think anybody ought to know that
--but I don't!'' Suddenly her eyes fell once more
on the instructions for boiling turnips, and her
face cleared. ``If it helps to cut turnips thin,
why not potatoes?'' she cried. ``I _can_ do that,
anyhow; and I will,'' she finished, with a sigh of
relief, as she caught up half a dozen potatoes and
hurried into the pantry for a knife. A few minutes
later, the potatoes, peeled, and cut almost to
wafer thinness, were dumped into a basin of cold
water.

``There! now I guess you'll cook,'' nodded
Billy to the dish in her hand as she hurried to the
stove.

Chilled by an ominous unresponsiveness, Billy
lifted the stove lid and peered inside. Only a mass
of black and graying coals greeted her. The fire
was out.

``To think that even you had to go back on me
like this!'' upbraided Billy, eyeing the dismal
mass with reproachful gaze.

This disaster, however, as Billy knew, was not
so great as it seemed, for there was still the gas
stove. In the old days, under Dong Ling's rule,
there had been no gas stove. Dong Ling disapproved