There was some hesitation and
there were a few false moves before the rear stairway leading to the
kitchen was gained; and there was a gasp, half triumphant, half
dismayed, when the kitchen was reached.
The cook stared, open-mouthed, as though confronted with an apparition.
A maid, hurrying across the room with a loaded tray, almost dropped her
burden to the floor. There was a dazed moment of silence, then Madam
Wetherby took a faltering step forward and spoke.
"Good-morning! I--I've come to help you."
"Ma'am!" gasped the cook.
"To help--to help!" nodded the little old lady briskly, with a sudden
overwhelming joy at the near prospect of the realization of her hopes.
"Pare apples, beat eggs, or--anything!"
"Indeed, ma'am, I--you--" The cook stopped helplessly, and eyed with
frightened fascination the little old lady as she crossed to the table
and picked up a pan of potatoes.
"Now a knife, please,--oh, here's one," continued Madam Wetherby
happily. "Go right about something else. I'll sit over there in that
chair, and I'll have these peeled very soon."
When John Wetherby visited his mother's rooms that morning he found no
one there to greet him. A few sharp inquiries disclosed the little
lady's whereabouts and sent Margaret Wetherby with flaming cheeks and
tightening lips into the kitchen.
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