"I think you might help me, Dot," cried Sam in dismal and rather
injured tones.
It was the morning following the day of the earthquake, and of Aunt
Penelope's arrival. Sam had his back to Dot, and his face to the fire,
over which indeed he had bent for so long that he appeared to be half
roasted.
"What do you want?" asked Dot, who was working at a doll's night-dress
that had for long been partly finished, and now seemed in a fair way
to completion.
"It's the glue-pot," Sam continued. "It does take so long to boil. And
I have been stirring at the glue with a stick for ever so long to get
it to melt. It is very hot work. I wish you would take it for a bit.
It's as much for your good as for mine."
"Is it?" said Dot.
"Yes it is, Miss," cried Sam. "You must know I've got a splendid
idea."
"Not another earthquake, I hope?" said Dot, smiling.
"Now, Dot, that's truly unkind of you. I thought it was to be
forgotten."
"So it is," said Dot, getting up. "I was only joking. What is the
idea?"
"I don't think I shall tell you till I have finished my shop. I want
to get to it now, and I wish you would take a turn at the glue-pot."
Sam was apt to want a change of occupation. Dot, on the other hand,
was equally averse from leaving what she was about till it was
finished, so they suited each other like Jack Sprat and his wife. It
had been an effort to Dot to leave the night-dress which she had hoped
to finish at a sitting; but when she was fairly set to work on the
glue business she never moved till the glue was in working order, and
her face as red as a ripe tomato.
By this time Sam had set up business in the window-seat, and was
fastening a large paper inscription over his shop. It ran thus:--