be splendid!" cried Nattie, delighted, "only it will have to
be some Sunday, as that is my only leisure day, you know."

"All the better, for then we will be less liable to intrusion,"
responded Cyn, gayly. "So make a memorandum to that effect, for next
week. We must not let Mrs. Simonson know, however, on account of the gas
stove; I pay her too much rent now. I am afraid we shall have a little
difficulty about dishes. The few I have are not exactly real Sevres
china, or even decently conventional. But--"

"Oh! never mind the dishes!" interrupted Nattie. "Anything will do! I
have myself a cracked tumbler, and a spoon, that will perhaps be useful
for something."

Agreeing therefore to hold dishes in strict contempt, the following
Sunday found the two girls with closed doors, in the midst of great
preparations for a truly Bohemian feast, as Cyn termed it; Nattie with
her crimps tied down in a blue handkerchief, and Cyn with her sleeves
rolled up, and an old skirt of a dress doing duty as apron.

"Let me see," said Nattie merrily, taking account of stock. "Two pounds
of steak--the first cut of the sirloin, I think you said?--waiting,
expectant of making glad our hearts, on the rocking-chair, potatoes in
plebeian lowliness under the table, tomatoes and two pies on your trunk,
Charlotte Russes--delicious Charlotte Russes--where? Ah!--on your
bonnet-box, in a plate ordinarily used as a card receiver, and sugar,
butter, et cetera, and et cetera lying around almost anywhere, and the
figs, oranges and homely, but necessary bread, where are they? I see, on
top of 'Dombey & Son!'"

"And our dishes will not quarrel, because thev are none of them any
relation to each other!" laughed Cyn, as she peeled the tomatoes. "I
fear goblets will have to take upon themselves the duties of cups, and
that cracked tumbler of yours must be used for something. I am sorry
that saucepan is so dilapidated, but it is the best I own!"

"And in that saucepan we must both boil the potatoes and stew the
tomatoes. Won't one cool while the other is doing?" queried Nattie,
hovering lovingly over the steak.

"I think not;" Cyn answered. "You won't mind the coffee being boiled in
a tin can, once the repository of preserved peaches, will you?"

"Ah, no!" replied Nattie emphatically, and sawing at the steak with a
very dull knife, without a handle. "It will be just as good when it's
poured out."

"I had a coffee-pot once, but I melted the nose off and