"If it helps to cut turnips thin, why not potatoes ?" she cried.

"I _can_ do that, anyhow; and I will," she finished, with a sigh of relief, as she caught up half a dozen potatoes and hurried into the pantry for a knife.

A few minutes later, the potatoes, peeled, and cut almost to wafer thinness, were dumped into a basin of cold water.
"There! now I guess you'll cook," nodded Billy to the dish in her hand as she hurried to the stove.
Chilled by an ominous unresponsiveness, Billy lifted the stove lid and peered inside.

Only a mass of black and graying coals greeted her.

The fire was out.
"To think that even you had to go back on me like this!" upbraided Billy, eyeing the dismal mass with reproachful gaze.
This disaster, however, as Billy knew, was not so great as it seemed, for there was still the gas stove.