"What it is to be young and energetic!" "I’ll do it," said Ted. "Leave it to us," sighed Denis. "Oh, indeed," she laughed. "I wonder how many plates Aunt Kezia would have left by the time you’d done?" Denis looked at Ted with an injured expression. "That’s how I’m thrated in the bosom of me family, Lancaster! But we’ll heap coals of fire upon her ungrateful pate, and won’t let her soil her nasty little hands." "We will—we won’t." The Atom carried the last plate into the scullery. Nell tilted her chin, and held out her hands. "Indeed, then, I _will_ wash up. These hands were made for work, and not for play! Edward, what are you doing?" "Trying to see them," peering close. "I see them! So they were made for work?" "That grin does not become your naturally saturnine countenance, Edward. I wouldn’t think of intrusting Aunt Kezia’s china to two great clumsy boys." Denis looked at Ted, then strolled towards the scullery. "I say, O.B.," said Ted, and followed him in a casual sort of way. The next minute the door between scullery and kitchen was banged to, Denis turned the key in the lock, and he and Ted stood grinning through the upper part of the door, which was made of glass. Nell sprang forward, but was too late. Then suddenly a twinkle crept into her eyes. "You watch!" she adjured Molly. "I wish the Atom would finish giving her Pearl his dinner!" The two boys took off their coats, rolled up their sleeves. Denis hauled down a big sauce-pan from a shelf. "_Dirty_ boy!" cried Nell, through the door. "Things are _cooked_ in that!" Ted proudly brought forward a bowl for mixing the ingredients of cakes and puddings. "It’s for _cakes_! Put it away!" They found the right bowl at last. Nell’s dimples deepened. Denis took the pan to the sink, stopped short, and looked at Ted. "No hot water!" they heard him say. "Tap’s gone wrong!" "Won’t cold do?" queried Ted, innocently. "Suppose so." "Oh," cried Nell, clutching Molly ecstatically, "you wait and _see_ the grease!" They filled the bowl, then seized plates, big, little indiscriminately, and plunged them into the water. "Oh, they’ll make the pudding plates as greasy as the others. And they haven’t thought of the dish-cloth." Denis took a meat plate and bobbed it up and down in the water. The grease refused to come off. He bobbed energetically, and whistled "Widow Malone" airily. Then Ted bent forward and heroically put forth a finger and rubbed. He made a long smear, and that was all. We studied his finger disgustedly. Nell tripped across to he fireplace, lifted the steaming kettle, and carried it to the scullery door. Ted was valiantly rubbing now with two fingers. "Denis! Ted!" They saw a pompous, steaming kettle, hot, inviting. "Hand it over!" said Denis, advancing. "But promise not to come in!" "I suppose you don’t think you need me?" "Most assuredly we don’t. Do we, Ted?" "N-no." "I won’t promise." He shrugged his shoulders.