the
cupboard.

"Call it tea," said the doctor, "and hurry up."

"No, chocolate is better. How do you make chocolate?" said the landlady,
turning to her cook-book.

"I don't know, and don't care," fumed the doctor. "Baked in a _slow_
oven, most likely, with a top crust. Let the chocolate slide."

"Well, I will. And now I'll make the omelette. Eggs? yes; there are
eggs enough; but dear me, where's the milk? This _condemned_ kind my
lady tells about won't do to make omelettes. I shouldn't dare try it."

"Well, well, give us a little bread and butter. I've got past being
particular."

"O, Dr. Moonshine, such biscuits as I'm going to bake for you at five
o'clock! But now I really can't find a speck of bread!"

"I'll warrant it! I always heard that when old Mother Hubbard went to
her cupboard she found the shelves were all bare."

"Then you needn't have come here to board. Won't crackers and raisins
do?"

They had to do; and the boarders tried to be satisfied in view of the
coming dinner.

All the afternoon Mother Hubbard spent between the cake-board and the
mouth of the oven.

"Queen of the rolling-pin, can't you hush up this fire?" said Dr.
Moonshine, looking at the thermometer; "we're nearly up to 'butter
melts,' and I suppose you know that's ninety degrees."

"Dr. Moonshine," replied Mother Hubbard, nervously, "I can't help it if
the butter does melt. We've got to have something to eat."

"Papa, pin up my dress," said the baby. "I want to do sumpin. I want
some pastry to paste a book with."

"You're a real failure, Toddlekins. Your teeth have come, and you talk
and keep talking. I'm afraid Mother Hubbard will charge me full price
for your board. You hear what she calls for, ma'am? Can you make her a
little paste? Here's an old Patent Office Report; and I'll run the risk
of her spoiling it. I'll cut some pictures for her out of these
papers."

"Lucky I don't keep a file of my newspapers," thought Mrs. Fixfax,
listening from the next room. "If I did, those children would hear from
me."

"Yes, I'll make her some paste," said Mother Hubbard, dropping the
aerating egg-beater, and setting the spice-box on the stove.

Dr. Moonshine laughed. Mother Hubbard had never dreamed a boarder could
be so disagreeable. She snatched off the spice-box, and setting a kettle
on the stove, boiled paste enough to paper the walls of a room.

Meanwhile Fly was making free with the nutmegs and soda, and the little
cook coul