“But Jul—­John, you know we are going to get our own breakfast, and I can’t build the fire all by myself.  Please get up.”

Thus entreated, Mr. Newbeginner condescended to arise.  His wife was already dressing.

Together they descended to the kitchen, and Jemima, the cook, furnished them with some uncooked steak, some potatoes, butter, material to make cakes, and other necessaries.

The fire was soon built.  Then such a hustling as ensued.  Mr. and Mrs. Newbeginner had many a dispute before breakfast was ready.  Mrs. Newbeginner might have foreseen the result of allowing a man in her kitchen.

Such a running back and forth as there was between their house and the Gordons’; for the Newbeginners began housekeeping by borrowing almost everything.

Mr. Newbeginner insisted that he knew how to make pancakes better than his wife.  She therefore allowed him to try his hand at them while she cooked the meat and potatoes.  Her part of the breakfast was ready before his.  Thereupon, she set the pans containing the viands on a ledge of the oven above the live coals to keep them warm.

Mr. Newbeginner, as soon as he had cooked one batch of cakes, placed them beside the meat and potatoes.  Then he baked another and another.

Alas, just as the last cake was baked, Mrs. Newbeginner bustled in from the bedroom where they had set the table.  Now there was a long pole that ran out from the oven as its main support.  Poor Mrs. Newbeginner in her excitement over their first breakfast somehow stumbled over the pole.  Down she fell.  But worse, down fell the stove also, and the breakfast which had caused them so much trouble tumbled into the red hot coals.

Up jumped Mrs. Newbeginner, and threw some water that happened to be handy on the fire.  Her quickness saved their home from being burned, but not their breakfast.  Tears rose and welled over the face of Mr. Newbeginner in a very unmanly fashion as he gave vent to his anger.

“Well, I declare, you are the clumsiest person I ever saw.  I am sorry I ever invited you to this house.”

Mrs. Newbeginner looked grieved and angry.  “It’s as much mine as yours.”

“No, it isn’t.  The wood belongs to me, and it is built on my place.  My beautiful pancakes are gone.”  He did not seem to mind so much about the food that Mrs. Newbeginner had cooked, and on which she had prided herself.  “You are the most careless girl I ever saw.”

“I couldn’t help it.  It hurt my legs awfully.  See how they are skinned, but I didn’t cry, did I?”

Even the sight of a pair of poor, bruised shins did not soften Mr. Newbeginner.

“I suppose we’ll have to go into the house, after all, for our breakfast.  It’ll be dreadfully hu-mil-ia-ting.”

“Can’t we go to work and cook another?” proposed tired, redfaced little Mrs. Newbeginner.

“No, we can’t.  The stove would have to be fixed, and we haven’t time.  Even if we had, though, I wouldn’t trust you to help with another meal.”