A Dear Little Girl at School Part 8

"No, we have not. I will take a large cupful. It swells up so, I should think that might do. You soak it first, I think." She measured out a full cup of the rice, poured some water over it, washed it and then set it to soak till the water should boil. The potatoes were put in the oven and then the two went back to the next room. "It won't take the rice as long as it does the potatoes, I am sure," said Nettie, "and the water will have to boil first."

They returned to the paper-dolls, becoming quite interested in them till presently they heard a great sputtering, and running out found the water was boiling over. "I'll put on the rice now," said Nettie, "for I am getting hungry, aren't you?"

"Well, yes, a little," acknowledged Edna.

Nettie was rather uncertain as to what she should cook the rice in, and next, how much water she should pour over it, but after some discussion it was decided, and they went back to set the table. "Doesn't it seem funny to be keeping house just like grown-ups?" said Edna. "I never knew how much trouble it was before, did you, Nettie?"

"I knew, but I didn't think about it, I suppose," returned Nettie. "We will pile up our dolls and papers over here on this other table and then they will be easy to get at when we want them. I wish the milkman had come, for I really don't know what to give to Tippy. We haven't any meat. To be sure he will eat most anything, but I am afraid he will go hungry to-day."

"Couldn't you give him an egg and some bread or some rice, if we have enough."

"I could do that, I suppose. I hope there will be rice enough, but it is very hard to tell when you aren't acquainted with such a thing as the boiling and swelling of it."

"Oh, I smell something burning," cried Edna, "and something is making a funny popping noise." They flew to the kitchen to see that the rice had burst all bounds and was dancing out of the saucepan all over the hot stove, puffing and popping at a great rate.

"Oh, dear," exclaimed Nettie. "I never saw so much rice come from one cupful. Could you believe it? Why, it has taken up all the water and the saucepan is full up to the top besides all that is on the stove. Oh, dear, I wish I knew just how to cook it."

"Haven't you a cook book?" asked Edna with a quick suggestion of what might help out the question.

"Why, of course mother has one. I will set this off and go hunt it up."

The book was found on the shelves and the two put their heads together to discover the best way to boil rice. "I think this seems the easiest way," said Nettie, pointing to one of the pages of the book, "but I hope it won't hurt it to wait, for I'll have to put on more water to boil. It says to have a great deal of water and keep it boiling like mad."

After some time the rice was transferred to another and larger saucepan and was soon boiling "like mad," then the eggs were fried and after a somewhat anxious and laborious period of time the dinner was p.r.o.nounced ready.

"Oh, dear me, but it is hard work," said Edna sighing as the two sat down to partake of the meal which they had prepared after so much difficulty.

"Yes, it is hard work," agreed Nettie, "but we did it all ourselves, and the potatoes are really done and the rice looks all right."

"It looks fine," said Edna, "and so do the eggs. I don't mind their being broken a little; I don't see how you could dish them up without."

They had been so long in preparing the meal that they were quite starved and ate with a relish. "I'm glad there is more rice," said Nettie, "for now that I know what a little it takes to make a big dish I shan't be afraid of our starving while it lasts."

"Oh, dear," Edna put down her spoon, "you don't think we shall have to stay here alone for days, do you? The snow will have to melt after a while and the roads be cleared."

"It doesn't look much like it yet," returned Nettie.

"Oh, but it never, never, never could keep on like this." Edna was determined to be hopeful. "I'm going to believe someone will come this very afternoon, either your mother or somebody."

Her faith was not without foundation for along in the middle of the afternoon they heard jangling bells, and ran to the front window to see the milkman in a huge sleigh, his milk cans in the body of it. He plowed his way to the front door which was opened to him before he could knock.

"Oh, Mr. Snyder," said Nettie, "I am so glad you have come. We are all alone and we haven't a drop of milk."

"That so?" said Mr. Snyder. "I thought as much. It's pretty hard travelling and I've been hours getting around to my customers, but now the road is broken it won't be quite so hard getting back. I'd better leave you double quant.i.ty in case I'm late to-morrow."

"Oh, you are our milkman, too, aren't you?" said Edna. "You leave milk at Mrs. Conway's, don't you?"

"To be sure I do."

"And have you been there yet?"

"No, I'm on my way now. You're out a bit, you know, but what are you doing down here?"

Edna told him her tale in which he was much interested. "Well, I declare," he said. "Want me to take you home with me? I can bundle you in there with the milk cans, and I reckon you wouldn't freeze."

For a moment Edna thought she must accept this invitation, then she looked at Nettie. Suppose her mother should not come that evening, and she should be there at night all alone. "Couldn't you take Nettie, too?"

she said.

"Why, certainly. The two of you aren't much more than two milk cans, and I'm sure you're not so big round."

"Oh, but suppose mother should come," said Nettie. "She would be so worried, and I must be here to keep up the fires."

"Then," said Edna firmly, setting her face against the temptation of the cheerful supper table at home, the dear mother arms, the greetings of the boys and all the rest of it. "I will tell you what I can do. I will write mother a little note and ask her if she can send somebody or find some way to get us something to eat, and I'll stay till your mother comes, Nettie."

"Oh, I think you are lovely to do that," answered Nettie.

"Could you wait a minute, Mr. Snyder?" asked Edna. "I won't write much."

"I'll wait," he said, "and if you will give me a shovel I'll make a path to your gate. I reckon you're right about staying, sissy. I've got two little girls of my own and I know I shouldn't like them to be left alone either one of them."

Edna hurried through her note which said: "Dear mother, I am with Nettie Black. She lives in the first little house on the side road on the way to the old mill. We are all alone for her mother hasn't come back.

Please send us something to eat if you can, for we have nothing left but rice and milk. There may be eggs in the hen-house, but we can't get at them. I want to come but I'd better not. Your loving Edna."

The little note was safely stowed away in Mr. Snyder's pocket with a promise of sure delivery, and he went off, his horses plunging through the deep drifts up to their middles.

"I think you are just as good as you can be," said Nettie. "I don't feel as if I ought to let you stay, but I do hate the idea of being left all alone."

"I'd want you to stay with me if I were in your place," returned Edna remembering the G. R. Club. To be sure Nettie did not belong to her school, but she was quite as much one of those "others" to whom one should do as he would be done by.

"It really looks as if something had happened," remarked Edna. "When we see the path to the gate. I wish he had had time to make one at the back, too."

It was almost dark and they were about to turn from the window to light the lamp, when ploughing through the deep snow they saw someone coming down the road. They watched him eagerly. Except the milkman he was the first person they had seen that day. "He is coming this way," said Edna hopefully. "Oh, Nettie, I believe it is Cousin Ben. He has a basket and see how he has taken to the road where Mr. Snyder's sleigh went along."

She watched for a few minutes longer. "It is Cousin Ben," she cried joyfully. "He is coming here. Light the lamp, Nettie, while I go let him in."

She hurried to the door to see Ben stamping off the snow from his feet.

"Whewee!" he exclaimed, "but isn't this a sockdolager? I never saw such a storm? How are you Ande, my honey. Of all things to think of your being this near home and none of us knowing it."

"Then mother did think I was still at Uncle Justus's," said Edna.

"Just what she did. You rung a surprise on the whole of us, I can tell you."

He came in and set down the basket, took off his cap and overcoat and looked down at the two little girls with a smile.

"This is Nettie Black," Edna told him. "She has been so nice to me, and I don't know what would have happened if I had not been able to get to her house."

"Don't speak of it," returned Ben with a little frown and a shake of his head. "I'll sit down and warm myself and then you can tell me how this all happened."

He drew up to the fire, took Edna on his knee and she poured forth her tale. "Pretty tough," he said when she had completed her story. "I'm glad your mother didn't know you had started. Now, Miss Nettie if you will let me sleep on that big sofa I am going to stay right here till we can dig you out and your mother comes. There's a lot of provender in that basket and we'll be as jolly as they make 'em."