A RAIN AND A RUNAWAY

At her cry of dismay, Perkins strolled over to take a look.

"They're burnt, Miss," he announced, bending over the pan.

"Of course they are," snapped Judy, "any one could see that, Perkins."

Perkins looked over her head, loftily.

"Yes, Miss, of course," he said, "but it's mostly always that way when
there are too many cooks. I'm afraid there won't be enough to go
around, Miss."

"Are these all?" asked Judy, anxiously.

"Yes," said Launcelot, "I cooked four and you burned six, and there are
the Judge and Anne and Nannie and Amelia and Perkins and you and I to
be fed."

"You needn't count me, sir," said Perkins. "I never eats, sir."

With which astounding statement, he carried away the charred remains.

"Does he mean that he doesn't eat at all?" questioned Judy, staring
after the stout figure of the retiring butler.

Launcelot laughed. "Oh, he eats enough," he said, "only he doesn't do
it in public. He knows his place."