that very
fact made him all the more unrelenting and stubborn. He had never
spoken to his brother since, and he declared he never would. Prissy
and her father felt very badly over it, but Uncle Richard did not seem
to feel badly at all. To all appearance he had completely forgotten
that there were such people in the world as his brother Irving and his
niece Prissy.

Prissy had no trouble in breaking into Uncle Richard's house, for the
woodshed door was unfastened. She tripped into the hostile kitchen
with rosy cheeks and mischief sparkling in her eyes. This was an
adventure--this was fun! She would tell her father all about it when
he came home at night and what a laugh they would have!

There was still a good fire in the stove, and in the pantry Prissy
found the dinner in its raw state--a fine roast of fresh pork,
potatoes, cabbage, turnips and the ingredients of a raisin pudding,
for Richard Baker was fond of raisin puddings, and could make them as
well as Mrs. Janeway could, if that was anything to boast of.

In a short time the kitchen was full of bubbling and hissings and
appetizing odours. Prissy enjoyed herself hugely, and the raisin
pudding, which she rather doubtfully mixed up, behaved itself
beautifully.

"Uncle Richard said he'd be home by one," said Prissy to herself, as
the clock struck twelve, "so I'll set the table now, dish up the
dinner, and leave it where it will keep warm until he gets here. Then
I'll slip away home. I'd like to see his face when he steps in. I
suppose he'll think one of the Jenner girls across the street has
cooked his dinner."

Prissy soon had the table set, and she was just peppering the turnips
when a gruff voice behind her said:

"Well, well, what does this mean?"

Prissy whirled around as if she had been shot, and there stood Uncle
Richard in the woodshed door!

Poor Prissy! She could not have looked or felt more guilty if Uncle
Richard had caught her robbing his desk. She did not drop the turnips
for a wonder; but she was too confused to set them down, so she stood
there holding them, her face crimson, her heart thumping, and a
horrible choking in her throat.

"I--I--came up to cook your dinner for you, Uncle Richard," she
stammered. "I heard you say--in the store--that Mrs. Janeway had gone
home and that you had nobody to cook your New Year's dinner for you.
So I thought I'd come and do it, but I meant to slip away before you
came home."

Poor Prissy felt that