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"You stay out of this, Gable," snapped Cela, taking a passing notice as Dick hurried in, grabbed a towel, and dashed out again. She turned back to Tollers. "I don't see how helping yourself to the pie has anything to do with keeping the youngsters out of trouble - just the opposite, I'd say you're setting a very bad example for them!"
Tollers at least had the grace to look slightly abashed but offered up no words of explanation. Cela couldn't see any excuses that she would accept, anyhow. "Now you get on back out there and do your job like you're supposed to. Master Dick's looking mighty frazzled, and cleaning up spills is your job more than his. And you, too, Gable; I don't need any help in here. Both of you, out!"
The pair quickly obliged, leaving Cela alone in the kitchen. She shook her head. She was the cook, not the disciplinarian - truth be told, a disciplinarian ought not to be much needed around here, but that was such a false statement that Cela nearly laughed out loud. "Now let's see what we can do about that pie," she muttered to herself. She took a knife and cut off the edges where Tollers had fooled with the pie and irascibly tossed out those scraps. All told, at least a quarter of the pie had been wasted, and the common room seemed to be filling up quickly, from the sounds of it. Done is done, she told herself, and set the pie back on the shelf. There's other work to do.
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