“But once,” he added, “ladies, he actually put some soda in.  It was at a party, and we had our first rhubarb tart for the season, and the company sprinkled it all over with the soda and began to eat, but they were too polite to say how nasty it was.  But, of course, when I was helped I called out.  And what do you think the boy in buttons said?”

Nobody could guess, so No. 7 had to tell them.

“He said he had put it in on purpose, because he thought it would correct the acid of the pie.  So I said he had best be apprenticed to a doctor; so he went—­I dare say, ma’am, it was the same doctor who took your cook—­but I never heard of him any more, and I’ve never dared to have a boy in buttons again.”

“A very wise decision, ma’am, I’m sure!” cried Aunt Judy, who came up to the wonderful tea-table in the midst of the last mound of applause.  “And now may I ask what game this is that you are playing at?”

“Oh, we’re telling Cook Stories, Aunt Judy,” cried No. 6, seizing her by the arm; “they’re such capital fun!  I wish you had heard mine; they were laughing at it when you first came in!”

“It must have been delicious, to judge by the delight it gave,” replied Aunt Judy, smiling, and kissing No. 6’s oddly bedizened up-turned face.  “But what I want to know is, what put Cook Stories, as you call them, into your head?”

“Oh! don’t you remember—­” and here followed a long account from No. 6 of how, about a week before, the little ones had gone somewhere to spend the day, and how it had turned out a very rainy day, so that they could not have games out of doors with their young friends, as had been expected, but were obliged to sit a great part of the time in the drawing-room, putting Chinese puzzles together into stupid patterns, and playing at fox-and-goose, while the ladies were talking “grown-up conversation,” as No. 6 worded it, among themselves; and, of course, being on their own good behaviour, and very quiet, they could not help hearing what was said.  “And, oh dear, Aunt Judy,” continued No. 6, now with both her arms holding Aunt Judy, of whom she was very fond, (except at lesson times!) round the waist, “it was so odd!  No. 7 and I did nothing at last but listen and watch them; for little Miss, who sat with us, was shy, and wouldn’t talk, and it was so very funny to see the ladies nodding and making faces at each other, and whispering, and exclaiming, how shocking! how abominable! you don’t say so! and all that kind of thing!”

“Well, but what was shocking, and abominable, and all that kind of thing?” inquired Aunt Judy.

“Oh, I don’t know—­things the nurses, and cooks, and boys in buttons did.  Almost all the ladies had some story to tell—­all the servants had done something or other queer—­but especially the cooks, Aunt Judy, there was no end to the cooks.  So one day after we came back, and we didn’t know what to play at, I said:  ’Do let us play at telling Cook Stories, like the ladies at —­ .’  So we’ve dressed up, and played at Cook Stories, ever since.  Dear Aunt Judy, I wish you would invent a Cook Story yourself!” was the conclusion of No. 6’s account.