"Now I'm going to fetch my mother-in-law," said Meg; "she's coming to have a cup of early tea with us, while the bread is baking. I do not look at it yet, because I want the oven to keep hot, and I know it will not burn yet." "If the baker bakes my bread for me, I shall be saved all that," said Mrs. Blunt. "Yes, so you will; and as your loaves will be large it would be a great help, because a baker's oven is such a nice even heat. Still it is nice to know how to do it." "Oh yes," said Mrs. Blunt. "I did not mean that." Meg went upstairs. "Come, mother," she said, "Mrs. Blunt's there, and I'm going to make the tea. It's early to be sure, but you won't mind." "I must finish these couple of shirts, my dear." "Then I'll do that," said Meg, "while you make up your fire. I couldn't venture to do _that_ for you, mother; I shouldn't do it right." Meg laughed as she said that, and Mrs. Seymour laughed too. Miss Hobson from the inner room called out cheerily: "Well, it's the only thing as she thinks you can't do to her mind anyway." "Young folks can't have the experience of us old ones," said Mrs. Seymour. "We can't expect it." Meg finished the shirts, and then went into the back room to say, "How d'ye do" to her mother-in-law's lodger, while Mrs. Seymour took off her ironing apron, settled her cap aright, and went downstairs. "I shall bring you a cup of our tea presently," said Meg, "and a bit of bread and butter, so don't settle to sleep yet, Miss Hobson." "Very well, my dear, I'm glad you told me. Are you going to have a party?" Meg smiled. "Miss Hobson, I've got a pot of sunshine that won't hold it all, so I'm going to give a little away." Miss Hobson looked at her curiously, but Meg only nodded and ran off. Presently Meg allowed Mrs. Blunt to look for a moment with her into the little oven. There were the two loaves brown and crusty, with beautiful white ridges peeping out where the crust had broken, looking the picture of what home-made loaves should be. "Are they done?" asked Mrs. Blunt. "Not quite. They are not 'soaked,' as mother would say. If we took them out now they would be wet in the middle." She quickly shut the oven, looked at her fire, but did not touch it, as she had made it up before the bread went in; and then she turned to her kettle. "Now boil as soon as you like," she said to it. She spread a cloth, set some teacups, cut some bread and butter, and took out of her cupboard a tin of sardines. "Jem heard what I was going to do, and he brought these home of his own idea; don't you think that was kind of him?" asked Meg. "That it was," said Mrs. Blunt. "Why, I haven't been out to tea since--not for years." "Here is the kettle boiling, and here is Pattie's little loaf, just cool enough for her to touch. Come, Pattie, sit on this hassock on the chair by mother, you'll be high enough then."