"I am sorry to say the pan is already buttered," replied she. "What
other accomplishments have you?"
"Oh, I can do anything I am told," came eagerly from Bob.
"That's something, anyway. Then fetch me some flour, please."
"Flour?"
"It's in the barrel. No, that's the sugar bowl. The barrel under the
shelf."
"The barrel! To be sure. Barrel ahoy! How could I have mistaken its
sylph-like form? How much flour do you want?"
"Just a little."
She passed the sieve to him and went to inspect the oven.
Bob caught up the sifter, filled it to the brim, and came toward her,
turning the handle as he approached.
"I say, this is great, isn't it?" he observed, so intent on the
mechanism of the device that he did not notice the track of whiteness
which he was leaving behind him. "It is like winding up a victrola."
Whistling a random strain from _Faust_ he turned the handle faster.
"Oh, Bob!" burst out Delight. "Look what you're doing."
Obediently he looked but did not comprehend. Her slip of the tongue
had banished every other idea from his mind.
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