The next Saturday morning the Grigs met at Hilda’s, and after the merry meeting was over Clementine begged Patty to stop in at her house for a few moments on her way home.

“I’d ask you to stay to luncheon,” said Clementine, as they went through the hall, “but mamma is giving a luncheon party to-day, and I can’t have anything to eat myself until after her guests have gone.”

“Oh, I must go home anyway,” said Patty; “Grandma is expecting me.”

“See how pretty the table looks,” said Clementine, as the girls passed by the open door of the dining-room.

“Beautiful!” exclaimed Patty, as she paused to look at the daintily appointed table, with its shining glass and silver, its decorations and pretty name cards. “Your mother knows just how to arrange a table, doesn’t she? How many are coming?”

“Eight; that is, there will be eight with mamma. Of course I never go to the table when she has formal company. I can have something to eat in the butler’s pantry, or I can wait until the luncheon is over and then go in the dining-room. Yes, the table will look lovely after the flowers are on and all the last touches.”

The two girls went on up to the play-room and were soon engrossed in lively chat about their own affairs.

Suddenly Mrs. Morse appeared in the door-way.

“Oh, Clementine,” she exclaimed, with an air of the greatest consternation, “I don’t know what I am to do! Cook has scalded her hands fearfully; she upset a kettle of boiling water and the burns were so bad I had to send her straight to the hospital. She’s just gone and it’s after half-past twelve now and all those people coming to luncheon at half-past one. Nothing is cooked, nothing is ready and I’m at my wits’ end.”

“Can’t Jane cook?”

“No, she’s only a waitress; and besides, I need her in the dining-room. I can’t think of anything but for you to run right down to Pacetti’s and ask them to send me a capable, first-class cook at once. I’d telephone, but I’m afraid they’d send some inexperienced person, so I think it better for you to go. Make them understand the necessity for haste; but, dear me, they’re so slow, anyway, that I doubt if a cook would reach here before half-past one. And there is so much to be done. I never was in such an unfortunate situation!”

Mrs. Morse looked the picture of despair, and indeed it was not surprising that she should. But while she had been talking to Clementine, Patty had been doing some quick thinking.

“Mrs. Morse,” she said, “if you will trust me, I will cook your luncheon for you. I can do it perfectly well and I will engage to have everything ready at half-past one, if I can go right to work.”

“My dear child, you’re crazy. Everything is all prepared to be cooked, but it is by no means a plain every-day meal. There are quail to be broiled, lobster Newburg to be prepared, salad dressing, soup, coffee, and no end of things to be looked after, besides a most elaborate dessert from the confectioner’s which has to be properly arranged. So you see, though I appreciate your kind offer of help, it is outside the possibilities.”

Patty’s eyes danced as she heard this list of the fancy dishes in which her soul delighted.

“Please let me do it, Mrs. Morse,” she begged; “I know how to do everything you’ve mentioned, and with Clementine to help me I’ll send up the dishes exactly as they should be.”

“But I don’t know a thing about cooking,” exclaimed Clementine, in dismay.

“I don’t want you to help me cook; I’ll do that. I just want you to help me beat eggs or chop parsley or things like that. You must promise to obey my orders strictly and quickly; then there’ll be no trouble of any kind. Truly, Mrs. Morse, I can do it and do it right.”

Patty’s air of assurance convinced Mrs. Morse, and though it seemed absurd, the poor lady was so anxious to believe in this apparent miracle that she consented.

“Why, Patty,” she said, “if you really can do it, it would be a perfect godsend to me to have you.”

“Indeed I can,” said Patty, who was already turning up the sleeves of her shirt-waist by way of preparation. “Just give me a big apron and wait one minute while I telephone to Grandma not to expect me home to luncheon, and then show me the way to the kitchen.”

When they reached the kitchen Patty was delighted to see how beautifully everything was prepared for cooking. The quail were already on the broiler, the bread cut for toast, the ingredients for the salad dressing measured. The dishes were piled in order and the cooking utensils laid ready to hand.

“Why, it will be no trouble at all!” she exclaimed; “your cook must be a genius to have everything so systematically prepared.”

“Are you quite sure you know how?” said Mrs. Morse, once more, looking doubtfully at the uncooked viands.

“Oh, yes, indeed!” exclaimed Patty, blithely; “it’s twice as easy as I thought it was going to be. But I must have full sway, and no interference of any sort. Now you run along, good lady, and put on your pretty gown, and don’t give another thought to your food. But please send the waitress to me, as we must understand each other.”

Mrs. Morse looked at Patty with a sort of awe, as if she had suddenly discovered a genius in one whom she had hitherto thought of as a mere child. Then she went away to dress, feeling that somehow things would come out all right.

Patty was in her element. Not only because she dearly loved to cook and thoroughly understood the concoction of fancy dishes, but more because she was so delighted to have an opportunity to help Mrs. Morse. Clementine’s mother was one of her ideal women, and Patty admired her exceedingly. Moreover, she had been very kind to Patty and the grateful girl was happy in the thought of being a real help to her good friend.

When Jane came to the kitchen Patty explained the situation to her and in a few clear straightforward orders made it impossible that any mistake should occur between the cooking and the serving. Patty unconsciously assumed an air of dignity, which struck Clementine as intensely comical, but which impressed Jane as the demeanour of a genius.

“Now,” said Patty, when Jane had returned to the dining-room, “I’ll give you fair warning, Clementine, that I shall be pretty cross while I’m doing this cooking. You know crossness is the prerogative of a cook. So don’t mind me............