Also they had not thought of washing the crockery before they set the table.
"But it doesn't matter--the cups and saucers, I mean," said Mother.
"Because I've found another room--I'd quite forgotten there was one.

And it's magic! And I've boiled the water for tea in a saucepan." The forgotten room opened out of the kitchen.

In the agitation and half darkness the night before its door had been mistaken for a cupboard's.
It was a little square room, and on its table, all nicely set out, was a joint of cold roast beef, with bread, butter, cheese, and a pie.
"Pie for breakfast!" cried Peter; "how perfectly ripping!" "It isn't pigeon-pie," said Mother; "it's only apple.

Well, this is the supper we ought to have had last night.

And there was a note from Mrs.
Viney.