OUR OWN STORY-TELLERS.

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXV, Issue 18382, 28 September 1929, Page 11

OUR OWN STORY-TELLERS.

NIGHT-TIME IN THE KITCHEN. There was a great noise in the kitchen one night, for the utensils were giving a concert. “First of all,” said the frying pan, who was acting as chairman, spokesman and all other mans, “Mr Kettle will oblige by giving us a song.” The kettle gave a broad, though sooty beam, and commenced in a rather quavering and cracked tenor, some queer song about “Soot and Ashes.” “Item No. 2,” said the business-like Mr Frying Pan, “A conjuring trick by Master Toasting Fork.” Mr Toasting Fork promptly held a piece of bread over the glowing ashes, until after an interminably long time it smouldered and disappeared. He was heartily applauded. “Waste of good bread, I call it,” said Miss Milk Jug, very primly. She was rather piqued because she had been on the shelf for seventeen years and more, although she still kept an eye on a very dapper aluminium saucepan. “Item, No. 3. Fancy dance by Miss Flower Sifter.” The artist named, thereupon executed a maze of dances, leaving trails of flour wherever she went. She too, retired ’midst much acclamation. “Item, No. 4. The ‘Clacketty clack Orchestra,’ ” whereupon two potlids began a miniature fight, while a mouse-trap beat time with much clatter and noise. “Item, No. 5. A song by Madame Teapot. The Teapot sang “Tea for two and two for tea.” i “Item, No. 6. Dance in character by Miss Sunlight Soap and Master Flour Bag.” The two came forward, the sunlight soap, being a new cake, well stamped and branded, and the washed flour bag looked very bright and gay with its rows of coloured writing. Of course the soap left slippery tracks across the floor, so that, later, when everybody rose, they had no trouble in sitting down again. “Item, No. 7. Solo by Madame PotScraper.” Madame Pot-Scraper very kindly jumped inside a pot and rattled about until the audience blocked its ears and the artist was dragged out, scraping and bowing. “We will, ladies and gentlemen, now adjourn for supper,” said the Chairman, pompously. But ere they reached the cupboard in which was stored the feast which the mice had successfully stolen, there was the most terrible rush and clatter and everyone made for his or her respective pegs,—all, except the fish slice, who slipped on the soapy floor, stunning himself and not recovering till he was found in the morning, when it was thought that the wind had blown him there. “What was it?” everyone asked.— Everyone except the milk jug, for Miss Milk was frozen with horror and could not move. At last a voice said, “Only the wind.” “I-I-I think we’ll sup another time,” gasped Mr Frying Pan, who was genuinely afraid. “Yes, let’s,” was the unaminous reply, and silence reigned. Next morning when the owners came into the kitchen, one remarked to the other, “That wind made a clatter, last night, and I found the fishslice on the floor, just now.” “And It soured the milk, too,” replied the other.

Only the two potlids hanging near swung slightly, emitting a sound which was very like a giggle. The pan burnt the bacon; the kettle boiled over; the soap fell into a pot of water where it dissolved unobserved, and the teapot puffed steam through its airhole; but most annoying, the mice nibbled audibly in the cupboard. Yes, it is most disturbing when the pots and pans have a concert. (5 Marks and a Merit Card awarded to “Wendy,”—Cecily Meredith, Timaru, aged 15.) FOR THE CHRISTMAS SHIP. How to make a Chair. In the afternoon Betty Moore made two dear wee doll’s chairs. Her mother helped her make them. She got an empty wooden matchbox, some pretty wall-paper, four used wooden matches, and her king mother made her some glue. Then Mrs Moore sat down in an arm-chair and Betty drew up a small