of ``devil stoves'' that had ``no coalee,
no woodee, but burned like hellee.'' Eliza,
however, did approve of them; and not long after her
arrival, a fine one had been put in for her use. So
now Billy soon had her potatoes with a brisk
blaze under them.

In frantic earnest, then, Billy went to work.
Brushing the discarded onions, turnip, and beets
into a pail under the table, she was still confronted
with the beefsteak, lettuce, and grapefruit.
All but the beefsteak she pushed to one side
with gentle pats.

``You're all right,'' she nodded to them. ``I
can use you. You don't have to be cooked,
bless your hearts! But _you_--!'' Billy scowled
at the beefsteak and ran her finger down the index
of the ``Bride's Helper''--Billy knew how to
handle that book now.

``No, you don't--not for me!'' she muttered,
after a minute, shaking her finger at the
tenderloin on the table. ``I haven't got any `hot
coals,' and I thought a `gridiron' was where they
played football; though it seems it's some sort
of a dish to cook you in, here--but I shouldn't
know it from a teaspoon, probably, if I should
see it. No, sir! It's back to the refrigerator for
you, and a nice cold sensible roast leg of lamb for