In Grandma's Attic by Arleta Richardson Page B

with a box of things to sort and started the story.

    It happened one day when I was about your age—old enough to know better. Right after breakfast, Ma was called to see a neighbor who was sick.
    “Mabel,” she said, “I’m afraid you will have to do the dishes alone. I’ll have to hurry, because I want to be back before dinnertime. They won’t take long if you get right at them.”
    “Oh, Ma,” I moaned, “Sarah Jane is coming this morning, and we wanted to take our dolls down to the creek to play. Do I have to?”
    “I’m sorry,” said Ma, “but it can’t be helped. You’re a big girl, and you can help out a little. Finish your breakfast now and get started on the dishes.”
    I slowly finished my bread and jam, thinking how unfair life was, while Ma went to get ready. I was still sitting at the table when she left in the buggy for the neighboring farm.
    Reluctantly I got up and began to clear the table. I hadn’t moved very many dishes before Sarah Jane appeared at the door. She carried her doll and was ready.
    “Come on, Mabel,” she said. “Let’s hurry. We have to make our playhouse.”
    “I can’t, Sarah Jane,” I said. “I have to do the dishes first. Ma had to go away.”
    “Do them when we come back,” Sarah Jane suggested. “They’ll wait until then. I can only stay till dinnertime.”
    “Oh, I couldn’t do that,” I said. “Ma wouldn’t like it. She wanted her kitchen cleaned up first thing in the morning.”
    Sarah Jane came in and stood by the table.
    “These will take you all morning,” she said. “Couldn’t you pile them in a pan and put them out of sight until we come back?”
    “Well,” I said doubtfully, “where would I put them? The oven is too hot, and I can’t put them in the cupboard with the clean dishes.”
    We thought a moment; then Sarah Jane had an idea.
    “How about the root cellar?” she said. “No one would see them there. And we could get back in time for you to do them before your ma gets home.”
    That seemed like a reasonable idea. Quickly I stacked the dishes in a big pan, wiped off the table, and started for the root cellar. It took both of us to get the big door open, but finally, after much pulling, it swung back. I ran down the steps and put the pan on the shelf. We closed the door, and I hurried to get my doll, Emily.
    Sarah Jane and I played all morning under a tree by the creek. The thought of those dishes never entered my mind again. Sarah Jane had to leave at noon, so we picked up our things and returned to the house. Ma was back and was busy getting dinner ready.
    “Ring the dinner bell, Mabel,” she said to me. “Pa and the boys are way at the back lot today. They’ll need to get ready to eat.”
    I rang the bell, then washed and helped Ma set the table. Pa and the boys came, and we sat down to eat. About halfway through the meal, Ma went to the cupboard for a dish. “Now where is that little platter?” she said. “It must have something on it in the pantry.”
    I stopped with the fork halfway to my mouth. The dishes! I had forgotten the dishes in the root cellar! What was I to do? Now that Ma was back, how could I get them washed? I suddenly had no appetite.
    “What’s the matter, Mabel?” said Ma. “Are you sick? You’ve hardly touched your dinner.”
    “No, I’m not sick,” I said. “I’m not very hungry. That’s all.”
    “You probably spent too much time in the sun this morning,” said Ma. “You’d better stay in the shade this afternoon.”
    I intended to stay in the shade—the shade of the root cellar, as soon as I could get there without being seen. Perhaps I could do those dishes while Ma was in another part of the house.
    I hadn’t counted on the fact, however, that I couldn’t open the cellar door by myself. Now what could I do? No use asking the boys or Pa to help. They would need to know why, and I would be in for it. All afternoon I moped around the porch, wishing the cellar door would open and