A FAIR WHITE LOAF.
"It's very well," said Miss Clem Downing, Marjorie's sister, "for you
little housekeepers to make cakes and creams; anybody can do that; but
you'll never be housekeepers in earnest, little or big, my dears, till
you can make good eatable bread."
"Bread," said Mr. Pierce to Amy, "is the crowning test of housewifery. A
lady is a loaf-giver, don't you know?"
"When Jeanie shall present me with a perfect loaf of bread, I'll present
her with a five-dollar gold piece," said Jeanie's father.
"I don't want Veva meddling in the kitchen," observed Mrs. Fay, with
emphasis. "The maids are vexatious enough, and the cook cross enough as
it is. If ever Veva learns breadmaking, it must be outside of this
house."
"Don't bother me, daughter," said Mrs. Partridge, looking up from the
cup she was painting. "It will be time for you to learn breadmaking when
the bakers shut their shops."
As for the writer of this story, her mother's way had been to teach her
breadmaking when she was just tall enough to have a tiny moulding-board
on a chair, but Milly did not feel qualified to take hold of a regular
cooking class. It was the same with Linda Curtis. Grandmamma suggested
our having a teacher, and paying her for her trouble.
"Miss Muffet?" said Veva.
"Miss Muffet," we all exclaimed.
"And then," said Jeanie, "our money will enable her to buy the winter
cloak she is so much in need of, and she will not feel as if she were
accepting charity, because she will earn the money if she teaches us."
"Indeed, she will," exclaimed Veva. "I know beforehand that she will
have one fearfully stupid pupil, and that is Veva Fay."
Breakfast was no sooner over next morning, and grandmamma dressed and
settled in comfort, than away we flew to our friend. "We," means Linda
and myself. She is my nearest neighbor, and we often act for the club.
Miss Muffet lived by herself in a bit of a house, her only companions
being a very deaf sister and a very noisy parrot.
"Passel o' girls! Passel o' girls!" screamed the parrot, as we lifted
the latch and walked up the little bricked pathway, bordered with
lady-slippers and prince's feather, to the porch, which was half hidden
by clematis.
Miss Muffet was known to every man, woman and child in Bloomdale. She
was sent for on every extra occasion, and at weddings, christenings and
funerals, when there was more work than usual to be done, the little
brisk woman, so quiet and so capable, was always on hand. She could do a
little of everything, from seating Tommy's trousers to setting patches
in Ellen's sleeves; from making lambrequins and table scarfs to
laundrying lace curtains and upholstering furniture. As for cooking,
preserving and canning, she was celebrated for miles around and beyond
our township.
"Would Miss Muffet undertake to show a few girls how to make bread and
rolls and biscuit and sally-lunn, and have patience with them till they
were perfect little housekeepers, so far as bread was concerned."
It was some little time before we could make Miss Muffet understand our
plan, and persuade her to let us pay for our lessons; but when she did
understand, she entered into the plan with enthusiasm.
"La me! What a clever notion to be sure! Sister Jane, poor dear, would
approve of it highly, if she weren't so deaf. Begin to-day? Well, well!
You don't want the grass to grow under your feet, do you? All right!
I'll be at your house, Milly, at six o'clock this evening to give the
first lesson. Have the girls there, if you can. It's as easy to teach a
dozen as one."
"Milly," said Linda, "the club ought to have a uniform and badges. I
don't think a club is complete that hasn't a badge."
"We all have white aprons," I said.
"Yes; ordinary aprons, but not great kitchen aprons to cover us up from
head to foot."
"Well, if the club adopts the plan it will not be hard to make such
aprons. We must certainly have caps, and those should be thought of at
once."
Grandmamma was always my resort when I was at my wits' end, and so I
went to her with a question: "Had she anything which would do for our
caps?"
"There must be something in my lower left-hand wardrobe drawer," said
grandmamma, considering. "Thee may bring me a green bag, which thee will
see in the far corner, and then we will talk about those caps in
earnest."
That wonderful green bag proved a sort of fairy find. There were
remnants of mull, Swiss, jaconet and other fabrics--white, plain and
barred. Grandmamma cut us a pattern. At four the seven girls were
assembled in her room. Jeanie on a hassock at her feet, the remainder
grouped as they chose.
How our fingers flew! It was just a quarter to six when every cap was
finished, and each girl had decided upon her special color. We hadn't
the ribbon to make our bows, and were obliged to wait till somebody
should go to the city to procure it; but each girl knew her favorite
color, and that was a comfort. Linda Curtis chose blue, and I would wear
rose-tints (my parents did not insist on my wearing Quaker gray, and I
dressed like "the world's people"), Veva chose old gold, and each of the
others had a preference.
"You will look like a field of daisies and clover, dearies," said
grandmamma.
"There!" cried Jeanie. "Why not have a four-leaved clover as our badge?
There isn't anything prettier."
The four-leaved clover carried the day, though one or two did speak for
the daisy, the maiden-hair fern and the pussy willow. All this was
before the subject of the national flower had been agitated.
"Where are my pupils?" Miss Muffet appeared promptly at the hour, and
wore a most business-like air as she began her instructions. "Compressed
yeast has found its way to Bloomdale, my dears," she said, "so that I
shall not have to begin by telling you how to make yeast. That useful
lesson may wait till another day. Before we do anything, I will give you
some rules for good family bread, and you may write them down, if you
please.
"1. Always sift your flour thoroughly."
Seven pencils wrote that rule in seven notebooks.
"2. Mix the dough as soft as it can be handled. You must never have it
too stiff.
"3. Set it to rise in a moderately warm place.
"4. You cannot knead bread too much. The more it is kneaded the firmer,
sweeter and lighter it will be."
When we had written this down Miss Muffet remarked:
"Mrs. Deacon Ead's bread always takes the prize at the county fair. It
looks like pound-cake. I don't want you girls to make flabby, porous
bread, full of air-holes. I want you to learn how to knead it till it is
just like an India-rubber cushion."
"If the dough is soft won't it stick to our fingers?" said Marjorie,
with a dainty little shiver.
"Powder your hands very lightly with flour. That will keep the dough
from sticking," said Miss Muffet, "and you will gain a knack after a
while.
"5. The oven must be steadily hot, but not too quick, for bread. Hold
your hand in it while you count thirty, and it will be right for putting
in your bread.
"6. Grease your pans.
"7. When taking bread from the oven loosen the loaves from the pans,
stand them upright, and let them lean against something to keep them in
that position. Cover them lightly with a cloth.
"8. Do not put them away until they are cold."
We all gathered about the table, but were disappointed that there was
nothing for us to do except look on.
She took two quarts of flour and sifted it thoroughly into a large
wooden bowl. In one pint of tepid water she dissolved a
half-tablespoonful of salt and half a yeast cake. Pouring this into a
hollow in the middle of the flour she gradually drew the flour into it
from all sides, working it with swift, light touches until it was a
compact mass. She pounced and pulled and beat this till it was as smooth
and round as a ball, dusted a little flour over it, covered it with a
thick cloth and set it aside.
"That is all that can be done to-night, girls," she said. "Be here every
one of you at six in the morning, if Milly can be up so early. The bread
will be ready then for another kneading. You must not overlook the fact,
girls, that bread is not accommodating. It has to be attended to when
the proper time comes, whether it is convenient for the maker or not. If
neglected, it will be too light, or else heavy. Bread which is too light
has a sour taste, and is just as unpalatable as that which is heavy,
_i.e._, not raised enough, I mean."
In the morning our bread had risen to the top of the bowl, and had
cracks running in a criss-cross manner over its surface. Miss Muffet was
the first one to appear on the scene. She gave us a lesson in kneading.
Such patting and pounding, throwing over, tossing back and forth, as she
gave that poor dough. But the dough must have enjoyed it, for it seemed
to grow lighter every minute.
After a full twenty minutes of this process the bread was set near the
fire for a second rising. A half-hour passed. Miss Muffet took it in
hand again, and again she pounced and patted, beat and pounded the
helpless mass, this time dividing it into three small loaves, which she
set near the fire for the final rising.
"Bread is nicer made in little loaves," she told us. "More convenient
for use on the table, easier to bake, and less likely to become dry."
And now let me give you a receipt for Ingleside waffles. Mother
considers these very good, and so do we girls who have tried them.
"Make one pint of Indian meal into mush the usual way, which is by
stirring the meal into boiling water and letting it boil until it is
thick. While hot put in a small lump of butter and a dessertspoonful of
salt. Set the mush aside to cool. Beat separately the whites and yolks
of four eggs until very light; add the eggs to the mush, and cream in by
degrees one quart of wheat flour; add half a pint of buttermilk or sour
cream, in which you have dissolved a half-teaspoonful of bicarbonate of
soda; add sweet milk enough to make a thin batter.
"Have the waffle-irons hot. They should be heated in advance, not to
keep the batter waiting. Butter them thoroughly and half fill them with
the batter. Bake over a quick fire."
I never eat waffles without thinking of a pleasant home where two girls
and a boy who read this paper have good times every summer. They often
go out on the bay for an afternoon sail, and come home in the rosy
sunset in time for waffles. Waffles, with sugar and cream, are a very
nice addition to a supper table.
Another receipt of Miss Muffet's:
_Delicious Corn Muffins._--One pint of corn meal sifted, one egg, one
pint of sweet milk, a teaspoonful of butter, and half a teaspoonful of
salt. Pour this mixture into muffin-rings and bake in a very quick oven.
This receipt is one that mother sometimes uses on a cold winter evening
when she has nothing else hot for supper. They are great favorites in
our household.