"Well, howsomever it might a-been, tain't thataway now! Mis' Carter is 'cited over his a-comin'. She done made po' Miss Douglas sleep with some kinder wax on her competence las' night to peel off the remains of the sunburn an' she done made her promus not to wear that there cowboy suit for supper. Mis' Carter says she thinks Miss Douglas oughter be dressed in diafricanus interial." "Humph! The missus is all right, but she better let these here young ladies run this here camp like they been doin'. If they take to dressin' up it'll mean all yo' time'll be spent pressin' an' fixin' an' I want ter know who'll be a-doin' yo' work. Not me! By the time I get through butlerin' these here week-enders, I ain't got the back ter washanwipe all the dishes." Susan quietly started the charcoal brazier and put her irons to heat. She knew that the mistress' word was law and that although Oscar might grumble until he was even blacker in the face than nature had made him, he would go on washing dishes until he dropped in his tracks rather than make a real disturbance. Nan and Dum Tucker came to the kitchen after breakfast and helped him while Susan washed and ironed the many white things that Mrs. Carter had discarded as too soiled to appear before Mr. Hiram G. Parker. "I'll wash and you wipe," suggested Nan. "No, please let me wash," begged Dum, "I adore sloshing in suds." "Well, they's lots er suds here ter slosh in," grinned Oscar, bringing a great steaming dish pan, "an' if you is so enjoyful of suds, mebbe you young ladies could spare me altogether an' let me pick them there chickens 'gainst it's time ter fry 'em for supper." "Yes, indeed! Go!" from Dum. "We can do them in no time, can't we, Nan?" "We can do them, but not in no time," drawled Nan. "I can't think it is right for people to use so many dishes. Wouldn't it be grand to be like Aeneas and put your food on a little cake and then eat the cake?" "Yes, but if you can't do that, I think the feeders should at least have the grace to lick their plates. What on earth do you do with all the scraps?" asked Dum as she vigorously scraped plates, a part of the work that everyone hates. "Fatten chickens for killin'," answered Oscar, sharpening a great knife fit for the deed he had to do. "For land's sake, Miss Dum, don't arsk none of the week-enders ter lick they plates. They don't leave nothin' now for my chickens. The gals even eat the tater peelin's. They say it gwine make they har curl, but they eat so much they don't leave no room for they har ter curl."