for your custard?" "The oven, of course. Don't you know how to make custard?" "Oh, yes." Harriet turned her face from her companion, apparently to avoid the smoke, but in reality that Margery might not observe her laughter. "Help yourself to the oven." Margery groped about underneath the oil stove, burned her fingers and bumped her forehead against the edge of the stove. "If you please, don't knock the top of the stove off. We are some distance from another stove," reminded Harriet. "I--I can't find the oven," wailed Margery. "Don't you know why?" "No-o." "That is strange." "Where is the oven?" "There isn't any on this stove. Hadn't you discovered that yet, you silly?" "No--oven?" repeated Buster. "No. No oven." "Then I've mixed my custard for nothing?" "I am afraid you have unless you can turn the mixture to some other purpose." Margery stared at Harriet in silence, then carefully setting the dish on the little shelf above the stove she sat down on the floor and burst into tears. Harriet left her frying pan, and, taking Buster firmly by an arm, lifted the girl to her feet and led her out to the after deck. "Wha--at are you go--oing to do?" "Bathe your face for you and set you down on the deck to cool off," replied Harriet. "You knew all the time that there wasn't any oven," sobbed Buster. "Yes, of course I did. So should you have known. I let you go on--"