She gave one look inside her nice, clean
tent-kitchen--at least it had been clean when she left it--and then
she cried:
"Oh, Trouble Martin! What _have_ you gone and done?"
"Trouble make a cake but it spill," he said slowly, climbing down from
the table.
"Spill! I should say it did spill!" cried Nora. "Oh, what a sight you
are! And what will your mother say!"
"What is it now, Nora?" asked Mrs. Martin, who heard the noise in the
kitchen.
"Oh, it's Trouble, as you might guess. He's tried to make a cake. But
--such a mess!"
Mrs. Martin looked in. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time,
but, as that is rather hard to do, she did neither. She just stood and
looked at Trouble. He had picked up his hat, which still had a little
of the paste in it, and this was now dripping down the front of his
rompers.
"Well, it's clean dirt, not like the time he was stuck in the mud of
the brook at home, that's one consolation," said Nora at last. Nora
had a good habit of trying to make the best of everything.
"Yes, it's clean dirt and it will wash off," agreed Mother Martin.
"But, oh, Trouble! You are _such_ a sight! And so is Nora's kitchen."
"Oh, well, I don't mind cleaning up," paid the good-natured maid.
"Come on, Trouble, I'll let your mother wash you and then I'll finish
the cake."
"Make a cake for Trouble?" asked Baby William.
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