"Welsh rarebit," responded Polly promptly; "and baked macaroni,
and lemon pudding, and--"

"Not too much, Polly; we can't do all that at once. We'll try
something new every meal. Oh, say! don't let's tell your father
Mary has gone. We'll have dinner all ready when he comes, and not
let him know that we cooked it ourselves, until he's eaten it.
Then we'll tell him and surprise him."

"Well," assented Polly, with a vague misgiving that her father
might discover the change of cook; "I think it will be fun, Molly;
and then, if we get hard up, there are plenty of crackers and
preserves to fall back on."

"We shan't want them," said Molly scornfully. "I know we shall
have a great deal better things to eat than if Mary stayed.
Servant girls are so unreliable!" she added, with a whimsical
imitation of Aunt Jane's manner.

"I'll tell you one thing," said Polly, with decision, "we must not
tell the girls or Alan, for if they knew about it, they would
invite themselves to meals. If we cook for us three, that is all
we can do."

"What if they come here to see us?" asked Molly.

"We'll lock the door and hide," replied Polly inhospitably. "There
are times when company is a nuisance,--I don't mean you, Molly,
for you are head housekeeper, and I couldn't get along without
you. But come, we'll go up and put our room in order, while we are