Molly had the water on in a pot, that it might be ready boiling by

three; and, although she had warned Marta to keep it boiling, she did

not mean to trust entirely to her for it, but would come herself to

look at it every half hour or so.

Early in the morning the eggs had come, and Molly had waiting ready

a keg half filled with lime-water, made by dissolving one pound of

quicklime in a gallon of water, allowed to stand all day and then

poured clear from the sediment. The sediment was rather more than the

mere sprinkling it should have been, and she feared it might be too

strong, and added more water and again let it settle, when it nearly

all dissolved; the rule being to put in as much lime as will just

dissolve, leaving only sediment enough to show that this point is

reached. She then very carefully put in the eggs, washing every soiled

one, and warned Marta never to stir them, and, when taking them out,

to be very careful, as one broken or cracked would spoil the whole; if

this occurs, fresh lime-water must be used.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

TOWN VERSUS COUNTRY—THE SERVANT QUESTION.

IT was with a heart full of happy content that Molly started to meet

Mrs. Welles, and when the train slowed into the depot, she saw a

well-known head, with bright chestnut hair, leaning out of the window.

The next moment they were exchanging greetings like two gay

school-girls, for they were both warm-hearted, impetuous women, and apt

to be rather regardless of bystanders and appearances.

“Dear girl, you look so well,” said her friend, holding her off a

minute to look at her. “I see Harry is not killing you with kindness,

as I used to predict he would.”

“And you, too, look well, notwithstanding the hotel life you abhor so.

Where is your trunk?”

“I had it expressed to your house from the hotel. It saves all bother,

and I knew you and I would enjoy the walk home together, as you are so

near the station.”

And enjoy it they did, as only women who have known each other in

girlhood and made plans and dreamed dreams together can. The village

street was as prosy as any other Jersey village; but to these two, who

recalled London days, as they went through it, it was poetical enough;

and as they left the little stores and faced the country in all its

autumn glory of color, and the sweet fall odors of ripening fruit met

them, Mrs. Welles drew a deep breath.

“How lovely this is! No wonder you look well. What a waste it is, after

all, to live in the city!”

“There is something to say on both sides, Harry thinks. We gain all

that nature gives in the country, but we lose art and many things that

brighten one’s wits. But people who have a very narrow income can

enjoy very few of the advantages of city life, even if they live in it;

so, for them, the country is undoubted gain.”

When they reached the house, Mrs. Welles was delighted with it and

everything about it, and made Molly tell her all about her housekeeping

and how she managed. When she had given her a sketch of her daily life,

Mrs. Welles said, thoughtfully:

“That is all very nice, Molly; but it seems to me you must have a good

deal to do, or else your Marta is a treasure.”

“Well, I have a good deal to do, and Marta is in one sense a treasure,

though, at the same time, I can see that many people would not get

along with her. Her good qualities seem to be cleanliness (although

she is not tidy), and an ambition to be a good cook; but for general

work she needs constant watching and telling. Still, annoying as that

is, I do not know that one can expect more in a girl like her than

willingness to do the work laid out for her. If I were paying for

trained service, I should be dissatisfied; but there are few trained

girls who will undertake general work.”

“That seems to me a matter of course. A girl who is anxious to rise is

one who will try to learn how to do it, and it would be hard if one

expected her to remain always in an inferior position. If we do that,

I think we remove the strongest incentive to good work—the ambition to

better herself. I think it is the general lack of such ambition among

girls, the non-recognition of it as one of the conditions of service by

ladies, that makes the great difference between our English servants

and those here.”

“I am sure you are right,” said Molly; “and that seems to me the true

solution of the servant difficulty. Young girls must learn that high

wages and lighter work are to be attained by proficiency; that they can

look on first places, where low wages only ought to be expected, as

apprenticeships, and every succeeding one to be a step higher toward

the comfortable and well-paid position an accomplished servant of

any branch ought to be able to command. But this is something that

depends on the ladies themselves. So long as they pay the competent

and incompetent nearly alike, and do not insist on testimonials, not

only as to respectability and temper, but _proficiency_ in duties

undertaken, there is not much encouragement to an ambitious girl, or

at least she sees she can get along without making special effort, and

that, if she does make it, she will meet with the discouraging fact

that she is in competition with those who have made no effort.”

“Still, one would think that is a thing that would cure itself. Every

one would rather pay competent servants than incompetent.”

“Of course, if they know it. But when two girls come well recommended,

how can you or I tell which is the really competent one, if, as is

often the case, a good-natured lady has taken her servant’s good

qualities, her amiability and willingness, more into account than the

efficient discharge of her duties? I have kept my eyes wide open on

this subject, and find that a neat-looking, willing girl will nearly

always keep a place, even if not competent for its duties, and be well

recommended when she leaves; not, as justice demands, recommended for

the qualities she actually has, but also for general competence.”

Mrs. Welles looked slyly at Molly.

“And what character would you give Marta?”

“Now, that is hardly fair. I see the evil. I don’t say I can do

anything to remedy it; that has to be a general movement. When I am in

Rome, I suppose I should do as the Romans do; yet I would try to be

very specific. But it would do no good. If Marta leaves me and applies

for a place as first-class cook she will get it. Some few ladies will

need some more corroboration than her word and my letter, testifying to

general good conduct; but many will readily take her, and she will stay

a month or two, if not longer, get large wages enough to make it as

profitable to wait for another well-paid place if she does not readily

find it. A girl recommended as clean and willing will get a place as

cook if she has the hardihood to assert her ability; yet who would

employ a carpenter simply for his amiability?”

“Then you would have apprenticeship among servants as among artisans?”

“Of course, if it could be, I would; in other countries there

is practical apprenticeship without bonds, that ensures, to the

painstaking employer who does her best for a girl, not losing her

the moment she has learnt the first rudiments of housework, and her

apprentice year would be at low wages; she would have the option of

advancing her year by year, or of letting her go and taking a fresh

‘prentice’ hand.”

“I pity the woman.”

“So do I, yet it is just what we all do more or less without any

distinct benefit. Of course no reasonable person would expect a girl to

remain at the low wages when she became worth more.”

“That’s just what I was thinking, Molly. You will make Marta worth a

good deal more than $10 a month as wages go.”

“I know it, but I shall be content to give her $12 when she can do my

work with only superintendence on my part, and later on I shall expect

her to ask me $14; and I shall have to decide to give it, or take some

one else; yet, if she does her best till then I shall not feel ill

used, things being as they are. We can’t expect a young woman like

Marta to be better than her times.”

“Still, this comes back to the same point; _you_ have a good deal to

do.”

“Yes, but what better employment can I have? We live about as

comfortably as if we kept two servants, because I do much of the

lighter work; I have no drudgery. Marta does that. I have very few

social duties. I have plenty of time to read and do my little sewing

and we live as I like to live; I should not be so happy any other way.

When I have children I shall have less time, but I expect Marta will

be able to go on pretty well with an hour of my time in the kitchen.”

“But suppose Marta wants to leave?”

“I don’t think she will. She seems to have the European horror of

changing and, I think, believes herself part of the family. If I am

mistaken I shall be unfortunate, but my altering my policy now would

not change matters. I made up my mind to expect very little beyond hand

work from one servant; that I have got.”

They chatted till Harry came home, Mrs. Welles unable to make up her

mind whether Molly’s ideas were wise or foolish; as _ideas_ they were

good, of course, but how would they work in practice? Mrs. Welles was

too English to understand why a woman should make up her mind to put

up with half service, and she had been too well off since she had been

married to have learnt by experience.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

OX-TAIL SOUP—GRISINI—STEWED LAMB AND PEAS—MÉRINGUES WITH CREAM.

MRS. WELLES’S trunk arrived the next morning and Molly found her friend

had come as she said, “prepared and loaded for a kitchen campaign.”

Several little things not easily obtained in a country town she had

brought, and last of all she handed out a paper package.

“There, Molly, I thought, perhaps, you had none, and I have two or

three recipes needing the stuff, so I made sure and brought it with me.”

Molly had meanwhile cut the strings and saw in the paper a thick roll

of something wrapped in waxed paper.

“Ah, almond paste! I wished when I was chopping almonds the other day

that I had some.”

The almond paste was a substance that looked, in color and appearance,

like very heavy bread: it was almonds ground by machinery, and saved

infinite time in preparing almonds for macaroons, cake, etc.

“There, Mistress Molly, you see we are going to make goodies while I am

here.”

“I shall be glad to do my part and sit at your feet again.”

“Nonsense, Molly, I have nothing to teach you. You were too intelligent

not to see, when you had the key to a few things, that the rest was a

matter of experiment and practice; but while I was in London I had some

recipes given to me, vaguely written, as amateur recipes usually are,

but I want to try to get them right.”

Molly, mindful of her guest’s English tastes, had asked her butcher to

save her two ox-tails, as they were very cheap things, and she prepared

them for soup while Mrs. Welles finished her unpacking.

First, she cut up the tails into joints and each joint of the root of

it into three, then put them on the fire, in cold water, let it come to

the boiling-point, drained them off and pumped cold water on them. This

was the process called “blanching,” so often directed in cooking-books

without further explanation. They were then dried in a cloth, dusted

with flour, put in a pot with a table-spoonful of butter, and fried a

bright brown and frequently stirred round, to color them evenly; then

she cut up a carrot, a turnip, and an onion, and put them into it,

then added a bay leaf, three sprigs of parsley, half a salt-spoonful

of thyme and marjoram, two cloves, a tea-spoonful and a half of salt,

and half a salt-spoonful of pepper and two quarts of water. This was to

simmer four hours; at the end of the second hour a few of the nicest

joints of the tail were taken out to serve in the soup, the others

left to boil down with it. Half an hour before dinner the soup was

strained and a table-spoonful of brown thickening (recipe in Chapter

XIII.) stirred into it to make it the consistency of very thin cream.

As it boiled down it would grow thicker; then it was put to boil fast,

without a cover, and every few minutes skimmed. When quite clear of

fat, the joints of the tail were put in, a glass of wine added,[3] and

the soup was ready to serve.

Mr. and Mrs. Bishop’s turn was near to receive the reading-club, and

Molly had thought it would be pleasant to have it the week Charlotte

was with her. The lady entertaining could, of course, invite any of her

friends, and Molly asked Mr. and Mrs. Lennox. Mrs. Welles was delighted

to help, and the afternoon was given to a discussion of what should be

provided.

“We are wisely limited as to what is to constitute the refreshment.

There must be no oysters or ice cream, only cakes and sandwiches and

coffee and tea, or chocolate.”

“No _bouillon_?”

“Yes, that has been admitted in place of one of the other beverages,

as so many can’t take coffee or tea at night.”

“Let’s say coffee and _bouillon_, then, and sandwiches. Are you limited

to one kind?”

“No. Mrs. Framley, last week, had tongue, cheese and chicken.”

“Well, have chicken and lobster then. How many guests shall you expect?”

“About thirty-four.”

I suppose it is not necessary to go further into figures at this day to

show that Molly was likely to do all she had undertaken to do on her

allowance of ten dollars a week, but as her evening was a great success

and cost very little, I will give the details to show how it was done

and what the actual cost was. The flavorings formed part of Molly’s

stores and the almond paste was given to her, yet I add the price here,

for those who may wish to go and do likewise may not be so fortunate.

Although the list of articles were ordered, they were not all used.

One dozen eggs $0.25

One lobster, 3 pounds .36

One can of boned chicken .50

One pound of almond paste .30

One pound of butter .25

Leg of beef .50

Half pound of coffee .15

Milk .12

Sugar .24

Bread .20

———

$2.87

The first thing was to make four loaves of nice bread; this Molly did,

using two quarts of water and one cake of yeast (see recipe for bread,

Chapter XV.). To save trouble of cutting, Mrs. Welles suggested pipe

bread (_grisini_) to eat with the _bouillon_, and before the bread

was put to rise a piece was broken from the dough of the size of a

large orange; to this was added the white of an egg, whipped a little,

a tea-spoonful of powdered sugar and a good tea-spoonful of butter

softened. When it was all well incorporated, flour, warmed and sifted,

was added to bring it to the consistency of stiffish bread-dough.

It was kneaded long and well and set to rise. It took longer than

the bread, because it was a little stiffer and also the bread and

additional flour weakened the yeast. When it had swelled well, however,

Mrs. Welles and Molly sat down together to roll it, while Marta

attended to the dinner, which was to consist of soup, stewed lamb and

peas, stuffed potatoes and _méringues_, with whipped cream.

The _méringues_ had been made in the morning and the cream whipped. The

stewed lamb was something so simple that it could be left to Marta,

although in leaving any stewing or boiling to Marta, now or any other

time, Molly never omitted an occasional glance to see that it neither

left off _simmering_ and that the simmering had not become _boiling_.

“The rolling out of _grisini_ is a very tedious task,” said Mrs.

Welles, “but the compensation is that they keep as well as crackers,

once made.”

“You will have to direct me, Charlotte, as I have never made these

before.”

“All you have to do is to roll a small piece of dough under your hands

on the board, so, till it is no thicker than a pencil. If the dough is

too soft—it should be stiffer than bread-dough, yet quite elastic—you

can add a very little flour.” As she spoke she laid her two hands over

a bit of dough as large as a hickory nut and began rolling, pressing

pretty hard as she rolled.

“If they do not roll smooth, wet your palm with milk slightly.”

Molly followed directions. As each pipe was made it was laid on a

baking-pan. They were irregular in length, but generally about nine or

ten inches long.

It took them half an hour to roll them, for it was difficult at first

for Molly to get hers of fairly even thickness all the way down, but

practice brought facility. The dough made about three dozen, and they

were put in a warm place to swell till as thick as a medium-sized

cigar. Then they were to be baked in a _cool_ oven _half an hour_. They

were to be very lightly colored, when done, about like pilot biscuits,

and should snap short; hence the slow oven, as they must dry as well as

cook.

The bread had not been set till early in the morning, so that it might

bake late in the day, for Molly’s reception was to be on Friday—this

was Wednesday—and she wanted the bread to be as near as possible two

days old, for sandwiches, yet not at all stale. The _bouillon_ and

cakes would be made Thursday, and there would be nothing but the

sandwiches to cut and coffee to make on the day itself. Molly was

anxious to get all done before that, so as to be quite fresh for her

friends.

Before leaving the kitchen she went over the recipes she had written

for Marta’s guidance, emphasizing all important points. For the stewed

lamb there were some lean chops from under the shoulder (see Chapter

III.); these were floured and laid in a stewpan with a little butter

and fried brown, an onion cut up and a piece of carrot (half a small

one), and enough hot water barely to cover them was poured on them

with half a tea-spoonful of salt. They were to stew very slowly for

two hours, then taken up and kept hot while the gravy was skimmed and

allowed to boil down to half a pint, a large teaspoonful of brown

thickening was put into it and a can of peas, and seasoned to taste,

then the meat was returned and allowed to stew very gently a quarter of

an hour more.

Harry had been told laughingly he was to expect a very plain dinner.

“And is that the result of having two expert cooks in the house? Mrs.

Welles, I’ve been petting my digestion for the last month in order to

cope with the culinary productions of the pair of you, and this is the

result. I’ve heard before that too many cooks spoil the broth, but I

didn’t know it extended to the whole dinner.”

Although Molly had made the _méringues_ herself, she had written the

recipe, which is as follows:

Beat the white of two eggs as stiff as possible, that is to say, till

it will not slip out of the bowl, then stir into it _very gently_ three

ounces of powdered sugar, remembering the rule that anything to be

mixed with white of egg must be done with a light _lifting_ motion of

the spoon, rather than _stirring_, which may liquefy the eggs. Fill

a table-spoon with the mixture and turn on to a sheet of white paper

placed on a board which has been made a little damp; the moulds should

be oval, like half an egg. Put them in a very cool oven for fifteen or

twenty minutes, then open the door and leave them ten minutes longer;

the idea is to make the crust as thick as possible, which is done by

the long slow drying; if firm enough remove them from the paper, take

out the moist centre very carefully, and when cold fill them with

cream, flavored, sweetened, and whipped solid (recipe Chapter XXVIII.),

then put two together; they should be _over_ full, and the cream show

considerably between the two sides.

FOOTNOTE:

[3] The wine is optional.

CHAPTER XXXV.

MACAROONS—JUMBLES—GENOESE TABLETTES—IRISH STEW.

THE next day Mrs. Welles and Molly were in the kitchen bright and

early. She had ordered the day before all she would need for dinner,

and did not require to leave the house. They had planned to make

macaroons and fancy cakes. For the macaroons, half a pound of almond

paste and three quarters of a pound of powdered sugar were weighed

carefully, then three large eggs were separated and beaten. Mrs. Welles

put the almond paste in the chopping-bowl, and chopped it into fine

crumbs (which saves a good deal of mashing with a fork), while Molly

beat eggs and added the sugar, making icing, in fact; then the crumbled

almond paste was put to it and mashed with the back of a fork into the

icing, till it was all smooth and perfectly blended; some sheets of

thin paper were rubbed with suet and cut to fit the dripping-pan, on

which they were to be baked; half a tea-spoonful was dropped on a bit

of paper, and put in to try the oven, and meanwhile a dozen or so of

almonds were blanched and each split into six.

The macaroon, when looked at, had flattened down, as it should do,

but just a shade more than was just right, and a tea-spoonful more

powdered sugar was stirred in. Then the mixture was taken up on the end

of a tea-spoon, and bits as large as small nutmegs were dropped on the

greased paper,—about two inches apart,—and then on each of them three

or four bits of almond were put irregularly. The oven was moderate,—not

too cool, nor yet hot enough to color them till they had been in it ten

minutes.

“While you bake those, I’ll make some Genoese pastry,” said Mrs. Welles.

“That is a novelty to me; at least, I have heard of it, but not tried

it. If I remember rightly you told me you had once tried it, but found

it very unsatisfactory.”

“Yes, it was too sticky while warm to cut, and too brittle when cold,

but I have now another recipe which I want to try, and if it is good it

will be just the thing for your fancy cakes. This is the recipe:

“GENOESE PASTRY.—Four ounces of flour, three of butter, four of almond

paste, and five eggs. Melt the butter in a bowl, taking care it does

not get very hot. Break the eggs into a bowl, add the sugar to them,

stand the bowl in a saucepan of boiling water, and whip eggs and

sugar for twenty minutes, but they must not get very hot; take the

bowl from the water, add the almond paste, crumbled fine, to it, beat

till smooth, then add the butter, and last of all slip in the flour,

stirring lightly all the time; bake, in a round jelly-cake-pan lined

with buttered paper very neatly fitted and standing an inch above the

edge, in a rather quick oven for half an hour. When it is done, no mark

should remain on it when pressed with the finger.”

“Has any one you know tried the recipe?”

“Oh, yes; and I have eaten the cake, and found it excellent.”

Molly now opened the oven to look at the macaroons, and found they

could be put for one minute at the top, to take a deeper tint, and

another pan which she had ready could be put in the bottom of the oven.

Then she prepared one more sheet, after taking the first from the oven.

These she left on the pan to cool a few minutes before touching them;

then she lifted the paper from it, replaced it by a fresh one, and did

not attempt to take the macaroons from the paper till they were nearly

cold. She handled them after they were baked, and until cold, as if

they were egg shells.

Marta, who had now finished her morning’s work, was told to put on the

_bouillon_.

“You must take the largest pot, Marta; that shin weighs eight pounds.

It is cut in three, but gash it well, take out the marrow, and put on

eight quarts of cold water; when it is near the boiling-point, skim

it,—take care the scum does not break. After it is off, throw in a

wine-glass of cold water and wait; when it is once again near boiling,

skim again; repeat the cold water and skimming twice, then leave it to

boil four hours very slowly.”

When separating the yolks of eggs from the whites, for the macaroons,

they had been at once beaten with a tea-spoonful of cold water to

prevent hardening,—which they are apt to do when waiting even a very

short time, if not beaten,—and set aside for jumbles, which Molly made

while Mrs. Welles made the Genoese pastry. She used for them six ounces

of butter, six ounces of sugar, and half a pound of flour, with the

yolks of the three eggs. The butter was beaten to a cream and then the

sugar and eggs added, the flour sifted in, a table-spoonful of wine

put in, and when all was well mixed a few drops of extract of rose

was added, Molly tasting the paste to judge the quantity. It needed

to be perceptible, as it goes off in baking. Then she rolled it into

little balls about the size of a hickory nut, and on some stuck half a

blanched almond, on others a little bit of green citron, and on others

a strip of candied lemon peel.

Rolling them thus was much less trouble than cutting them into rings

and shaping them in sugar, and quite as sightly, for the balls melt

down in the oven into round cakes. They require a moderate oven; if too

slow they melt too much, if too quick they burn before they are done.

To keep the oven just right this morning when a steady, moderate heat

was required, Molly attended to the fire herself. Having seen that it

was solid at first, she kept it so by adding a very few coals _before_

it had shown any signs of going down. As soon as the jumbles were firm

and the bright yellow had changed to the palest pine color, they were

taken out, without waiting for them to _brown_ at all.

The Genoese pastry was now done; it looked like a thick jelly-cake, and

when cool was to be cut and jelly laid between it sandwich-fashion, and

some pieces iced plain.

When the macaroons were taken off the papers, there were found to be

between seventy and eighty, but as in two pans there were two or three

that had sunken somewhat and were less handsome than the rest, those

were laid aside. There were also nearly four dozen jumbles, and there

would be about three dozen _tablettes_ from the Genoese pastry.

It was getting near luncheon time and they were both rather tired;

therefore they gave up till after they had eaten and rested.

“I hope, Molly, you take care of yourself in this way,” said her friend

as they sat down to a comfortable lunch. “I remember how you used to

horrify me in London by going without food for hours, or only eating

cake or pastry, if you had anything on hand to interest you.”

“Yes, nowadays I do, whether I feel hungry or not: I sit down and force

myself to eat, and I do it leisurely also, for if I finish eating in

ten minutes I take a book or newspaper and spend the full hour resting,

then I go to work fresh again; although I confess I do it often in

spite of my nerves, which urge me to finish. But I do it, and I know

that eating nothing at all or a mere snack in a hurry, at noon, and

then keeping on with the sewing, or preserving, or shopping, is what

wears out half us American women. I used to get tired and faint about

three o’clock, after doing very little, and was almost ashamed that I,

a healthy young girl, should do so when I saw elderly women keep on

from morning till night. You and your mother first awakened me to the

fact that it was lack of food. My own dear mother had been like myself

all her life, neglecting her noon meal, simply because she never felt

hungry. _Now_ I get a meal of some substantial kind, and I make Marta

do the same, for she also is inclined to take a standing lunch,—just a

bit of bread and cheese, she likes best.”

“Well, I don’t believe people can work well if they do not eat

sensibly. I can eat three meals comfortably, but I agree with Dr.

Richardson: we could do without both the others better than the mid-day

meal. I suppose if you and I had kept on for a couple of hours longer

we should have been a pair of wilted beings.”

“Yes, there is nothing like leaving off and resting _before_ one is

really tired, if one wants to get through a great deal without feeling

it; but it is a very difficult thing to do.”

“I know it; especially difficult to those who need it most,—the

nervous, energetic women; to the phlegmatic ones it comes easy enough,

and they seldom overwork.”

“I have eaten the last of your ‘weal and hammer,’ my dear, and I agree

with Silas Wegg: ‘it mellars the organ,’—and now I am ready for work.

The next thing is to ice those cakes, I suppose, and I will put on the

sugar to boil.”

“No, I have French icing ready, but I forgot until this minute to make

some coloring; I bought the cochineal yesterday.”

“Well, there’s plenty of time; it will only take a few minutes; I’ll

put it to boil and we will both get the Genoese cakes ready while it

does so.”

Molly handed to her a packet containing an ounce of cochineal and one

of cream of tartar, mixed; this was put to boil in half a pint of

water, and was to reduce to half. While this was going on Molly got out

some raspberry jam and the lemon paste she had made.

“I wonder what I should have done if these good things had not come so

apropos!”—alluding to her mother-in-law’s gift.

“Done, my dear? You would not have felt the lack of them; you would

just have made your jumbles and some cocoanut macaroons and cones; made

some sponge drop-cakes, which you would have iced, and would have

forgotten to wish even that you had not the other things; I know you,

Molly.”

Molly laughed. “To tell the truth, I had thought the matter over, and

decided to make some orange paste, for which I have a very old recipe,

and as two oranges are enough, it would not have been very costly.”

“Before I go away I want to try it, if oranges are to be got yet, out

here.”

“I saw a few pale things, but Harry can bring some early Floridas.”

As they talked they worked. The bread-board was put between them, and

the Genoese cake was split carefully into four even layers. The rounded

sides were trimmed off wide enough to cut into odd-shaped pieces to be

dipped into icing.

The cochineal had now boiled fast about ten minutes uncovered, and by

the rim round the little saucepan showed it had diminished to one-half.

“Now if one can avoid getting one’s fingers in it, and looking like an

executioner for a day or two, it will be very nice; where’s the alum,

Molly?”

Molly handed the tiny packet containing two drachms of alum to Mrs.

Welles. It was put into the cochineal, stirred, and then a small

strainer was put on a cup, a piece of muslin laid in it, and the

coloring poured through it; then the ends of the muslin were gathered

together and the sediment gently pressed with a spoon and then thrown

away.

Molly, meanwhile, had been spreading one of the layers of cake with

the lemon paste, very thinly, and laid another on top of it,—this was

one cake; the other layer was spread with raspberry jam, and on that

also a slice was laid. I have said that the rounded sides were cut off,

leaving the centre square. These sides were cut into three-cornered

pieces; there were, consequently, a number of these corner pieces,

and two square cakes,—one with raspberry jam, one with lemon. Molly

had brought out the French or _fondant_ icing, the vanilla flavoring,

the bitter almond, and the caramel coloring. She divided the icing,

putting one part into a small bowl which she set in a saucepan of

boiling water, stirring it till it was creamy. Mrs. Welles had laid

a sheet of confectioner’s paper on the board, and when the icing was

melted, Molly brought it to the table and put to it a very small half

tea-spoonful of vanilla, and stirred it; then she dipped a table-spoon

in the boiling water, shook the water from it and then took it full of

the icing from the bowl and poured it on the layers of cake containing

the lemon, and spread it, using more icing as she needed it, smoothing

it with a knife dipped into boiling water and shaken.

When it was done, Mrs. Welles warmed a knife and cut the cake into neat

_tablettes_ an inch wide and two inches long, while Molly put the same

icing over the fire, stirred it slowly till the water under it was

boiling, and the icing creamy. She took it to the table, colored it a

beautiful creamy coffee color with a few drops of caramel, and then

dropped the corner pieces, one by one, as fast as she could, into it,

taking them out as soon as they were covered, and laying them on the

waxed paper with a fork. Before half were done the icing got stiff,

and she had to put it on the fire once more; and this time, as each

heating up made the icing a degree higher candy, she put in a few drops

of water from the end of a spoon,—a dozen drops perhaps in all,—then

the icing became creamy again. She finished dipping the cakes, all but

three or four, for which the icing fell short. Now the other portion

of icing was put in a bowl, melted to cream in boiling water, a few

drops of cochineal added to it, and a few drops (very few) of almond

flavoring. The cochineal made it a beautiful pale pink. This was laid

on the _tablette_ of cake in which was raspberry jam, in the same way

as the white, and it also was cut into _tablettes_ while Molly dipped

the rest of her three-cornered pieces of cake into the pink icing.

There was now a plate of pink, almond-iced _tablettes_ with raspberry

jam; one of white, vanilla-iced _tablettes_ with lemon filling, and on

the sheet of waxed paper lay several that looked like large, oblong,

French candies, pink and pale coffee-colored,—being completely covered

with icing, no one could tell they were cake.

“Now the cakes are all made, are they not?” asked Mrs. Welles.

“Yes; but I’m sadly afraid people will think they have cost much more

than is usually spent at these meetings; but I know they have not. Mrs.

Framley had sponge cake only, yet the eggs alone for the five loaves

she made would cost more than these cakes.”

“Well, it can’t be helped,” said Mrs. Welles.

“No,” laughed Molly; “I meant only to have the iced jelly cakes, and

though Genoese is so delicious I don’t know that that difference will

be understood, but your bringing the almond paste tempted me into the

macaroons, and then to make use of the yolks; of course they led to the

jumbles.”

“Yes, but they would pass; it is the ‘Frenchy’ look of the iced cakes

that will seem costly, but you can tell your friends what the cost

really is.”

“I know, only I hate to seem to lay myself out; yet when things can be

made so pretty one can’t resist doing it.”

“You can’t, because you love the work as others love Kensington stitch

and can’t resist adding to the beauty of their surroundings in that

way. You and I resist that temptation very well, but this makes one

understand it. All work is pleasure if you love it and _know how_ to do

it.”

“Now I’ll see the dinner on and we’ll adjourn and leave Marta in

possession,” said Molly.

Molly looked at the _bouillon_, which had been simmering four hours;

and Marta asked if she should put in the vegetables.

“No; this is to be extra strong, in fact _consommé_,—which means

_bouillon_ very much reduced,—so this can simmer two hours more; then

strain the meat from it, and to-morrow you can take off all fat; and

then put to it two carrots cut up small, two turnips, two onions, and

let them boil in it two hours; this will reduce it enough; then it can

be strained and cleared.”

Molly had arranged to have for dinner just such things as Marta could

cook, but the substantial part of it was to be Irish stew, that good

old savory dish. Excellent as it is when well made, there is nothing

more “poverty seeming” than the same thing carelessly done; therefore

she meant to see it all on to cook before leaving the kitchen.

IRISH STEW.—Half a dozen lean chops from the neck were floured and put

in a saucepan with two onions and a tea-spoonful of butter, and quickly

browned; but the onion was not allowed to burn, and therefore it was

all kept moving about. A pint of cold water was then put to it, and the

fat that this brought to the surface skimmed off and a tea-spoonful of

salt and one third of a tea-spoonful of pepper added. It was put where

it would simmer _very gently_ for an hour and a half, when it was to be

again skimmed, and a tea-spoonful of Worcestershire sauce put to it;

the gravy tasted to see if salt enough, and half a dozen large potatoes

(or more if small) cut in half; then it was to be closely covered and

was to simmer for another hour. Molly cautioned Marta against adding

more water.

“When you put the potatoes in, never mind if the gravy does not cover

them; they are to stew over the meat; sufficient good gravy to serve is

all that is necessary, if you cover the potatoes with liquid as often

is done, you get a good deal of broth, but no gravy.”

CHAPTER XXXVI.

TO BOIL AND PREPARE LOBSTER—SANDWICHES—CLEARING SOUP—OMELET SOUFFLÉ.

THE next morning the lobster which Molly had ordered was sent; it was

quite a large one, and it was put on _head downward_ into boiling water

in which there were four table-spoonfuls of salt to the gallon. Marta

was told to let it boil gently half an hour, then to take it out, as

if it boils too long the meat becomes tough and stringy; but, although

Marta had that order and Molly left the kitchen to go through her usual

morning duties up-stairs, Mrs. Welles noticed that when the half hour

was up Molly herself went to see that Marta had not forgotten.

“My dear Molly, a Marta would be the death of me, or I of her, if I had

one.”

“Why?”

“She requires such endless looking after. Why don’t you get a more

experienced girl?”

“Because perhaps the experienced girl would be the ‘death of me.’ I

mean it is unlikely the experience would exactly fit my needs, and if

it did not, it would be in the way of her learning my ways.”

“Does Marta learn?”

“Indeed she does—slowly; but remember, she is so newly arrived.”

“Oh, it is not her accomplishments I disparage, but that you cannot

trust her to carry out such a simple order as to take a thing out of

water at a certain time. What made you give the order if you did not

expect to have it remembered?”

“Moral effect, I suppose,” laughed Molly. “I always pretend to leave

things to Marta, but as a matter of fact, it was the very simplicity

of this thing that made me careful; Marta is impressed, I find, with

large appearances; if I tell her to do something that is to have some

very choice result, although I expect her to blunder, she generally

surprises me by carrying out the order well, because she is impressed,

and all her attention on the alert. She can do three or four things now

she is proud of; one is frying, because she has completely mastered

the art, and the results are so showy; then she has lived in Germany

as scullion, where she has heard fine cooking spoken of with respect,

and knows it is worth doing well. The difficulty lies generally in the

fact that half our servants don’t know that there is such a thing as

standard cooking; anything beyond their ken is ‘new-fangled,’ and is a

mystery not worth knowing.”

“Well, well, I admire your patience; I never could emulate it.”

“Oh, yes, you would, if it were only necessary; but with you it is not;

you have several servants, and can import your cooks specially trained.”

“Molly, I could do without servants easily; I would, rather than watch

and follow as you do Marta.”

“We’ll talk over this another time. I’m sure you would not, for long,

like to do without a pair of willing, if clumsy hands; a dirty servant,

I grant, you are better without,—but I must go down.”

“And I too. What shall I do?”

“Make mayonnaise for the sandwiches.

“Put on the soup, Marta, and the vegetables in it as I told you

yesterday.”

The lobster was now cool, and Molly began to prepare it. She took off

the claws, split it down the back, then called Marta to watch as she

removed the entrail that runs through the tail. “In the head is found

a small bladder or bag which must be taken out; it is sometimes called

the ‘lady;’ and along each side, under the shell, will be found bits

of a drab-colored spongy substance called the ‘lady’s fingers;’ they

are at the root of the small claws; when these are removed, all the

rest of the lobster is good. This soft, greenish fat might seem to you

should be thrown away, but it is, many think, the best part of the

lobster.”

The claws were then cracked and the meat taken out. Molly then made a

pint of white sauce and divided it into two parts. Into one she put

the meat of the lobster chopped fine, and seasoned it very highly with

pepper and salt, and enough lemon juice to give a perceptible acid or

piquant taste, and two tea-spoonfuls of very finely chopped pickled

cucumber.

To the other sauce she stirred the contents of a box of chicken also

chopped fine, and a large table-spoonful of the mayonnaise, which was

made rather more tart than usual, and this also was seasoned highly

and a tea-spoonful of capers stirred through it. Both the lobster and

chicken were put away till time to cut sandwiches.

The dinner was to be oysters on the half shell and stewed steak, as

being easy and _British_.

The recipe was given to Marta, who, with a little looking after, could

prepare it. It was as follows:—

Put a table-spoonful of butter in a stew-pan; when hot lay in a pound

and a half of the tender side of round steak floured, having removed

nearly all fat. Let it quickly brown with one onion, cut in slices;

then put to it a pint of boiling water. Draw it to the side of the

fire, where it will just simmer for two hours and a half; then take the

meat up on a hot dish, and skim the gravy clear of fat; stir into it a

dessert-spoonful of brown thickening (see recipe, Chapter XIII.), and a

half can of mushrooms, with the liquor. Let this boil fast till there

is about half a pint; season with pepper and salt, take off the little

skin of grease that fast boiling has sent to the surface, draw it back

from the fire, and lay the steak in again; let it all just _keep at the

boiling-point_, not boil, for a quarter of an hour.

Harry was to come home at five to get dinner over, and by way of a

sweet dish they were to have omelette soufflé, or as Harry called it,

_hot_ ice cream; it was quickly made and required no sauce. After

luncheon, as there was nothing more to be done till the _consommé_ was

ready to clear, Molly and her friend went out to walk. At half a mile

distance there was a spot where Molly had remarked the lovely ferns and

moss; they took a basket to bring some home to dress the rooms, and

as there were few flowers, they gathered the white plumes of the wild

carrot.

“I think we will resist the golden-rod, graceful as it is; every room

in Greenfield has a bunch of it, no doubt.”

When in the house two ginger-jars were filled with the ferns and tall

white blossoms; from one, long sprays of honeysuckle from their own

piazza were trailing, and this was put on the little stand in the hall.

The other jar was put in the fireplace in the parlor. About the rooms

tufts of bright red geraniums were set in specimen glasses.

“I think that looks quite festive,” said Mrs. Welles, surveying the

effect. “Will you have autumn leaves for the buffet?”

“I confess I don’t like them in rooms, beautiful as they are on trees;

I thought of filling those tall jars with these ferns and putting

single sprays of them in tall champagne glasses between the dishes of

sandwiches.”

“That will be prettier.”

Molly had decided, as Marta would be a shy and possibly awkward

waitress, to have everything except soup and coffee arranged prettily

on the sideboard, and every gentleman could help himself and a lady.

The coffee and _consommé_ would be sent round, and a small table had a

tea-equipage arranged on it. Mrs. Welles would steer Marta to safety,

when she should start with the waiter. It was a matter for discussion

whether Marta should be called upon at all, and she was admitted to

service simply as a pleasure to herself; Molly knew she would be

greatly disappointed if she were not allowed to take some active part

in the proceedings.

“You are a curious girl, Molly,” Mrs. Welles had said when she heard

Molly’s reason. “It would not have occurred to me.”

“Nor to me, perhaps, if I had not remembered that this girl has no

acquaintances about here, and to the festive German nature to sit in a

quiet kitchen, and hear voices and laughter, must be infinitely more

dull than making herself useful and seeing the faces of those who laugh

and talk. I can see she is quite excited by the thought of numbers of

people.”

The sideboard was moved into the pantry off the dining-room; two Albert

biscuit boxes were put, one at each end of it, a small board (one of

a set of hanging book-shelves removed for the occasion) was placed on

them and then covered with a fine white napkin; at each end a vase of

ferns, and along it, disposed so that the colors would show to best

advantage, were the iced cakes and macaroons. On the sideboard itself

another long white napkin was laid, and here were to be the dishes

of sandwiches; the arrangement of this beforehand freed Molly from

anxiety, and when the door of the pantry was closed it was not seen;

yet with it open the sideboard was so placed that it and nothing else

was visible from the room. A bracket lamp was to be fastened so as

to light it up as much as the interior of the dining-room. When the

arrangements were all made, Mrs. Welles and Molly repaired to the

kitchen. The dinner was quietly cooking and Marta had just got through

her work.

“I will clear the soup first, because I want you to see it, Marta.”

Molly took the two whites of eggs and their shells left from the

mayonnaise and two more; then she beat up shells and all to a froth,

mixed a small cup of the cold soup with them, and poured the whole into

the soup, beating all the while till it was at boiling-point again;

then she drew it back from the fire and left it ten minutes. While

it settled, she put a large mixing-bowl on the table, and a colander

in that; then an old napkin, that she had dipped into boiling water

and wrung out, was laid over the colander. In ten minutes the egg was

hanging in the soup like white curds and the soup itself looked quite

clear.

It was poured through the cloth and allowed to drip. Molly lifted

the colander, and when the soup had run through removed it _without

squeezing_. The soup lay in the bowl like clear weak tea. Molly added

a few drops of caramel (see Chapter XIII.), and then tasted it for

seasoning. The caramel only made it a shade darker than it was, just

a bright straw color. The boiling with the vegetables had reduced it

to about five quarts. Intending it to be so reduced had caused Molly

to omit part of the salt; if salted for _eight_ quarts and reduced to

_five_ it would be too salt to use, as _salt never evaporates_.

The soup was now put into a marbleized preserving-pan, which would give

no more taste than a china bowl, and be ready to boil up when required.

Mrs. Welles had, meanwhile, been cutting sandwiches, and already had

quite a pile of thin slices of bread, which Molly now spread thinly

with mayonnaise. When two loaves were cut up, Mrs. Welles put a thin

layer of the chicken mixture on some of the slices Molly had spread

with mayonnaise; then put another slice over it, and when a good many

were done, the crust was cut off all round and each slice cut from

corner to corner, thus making four little three-cornered sandwiches.

When there were enough of these done, they treated the lobster in the

same way, and when all were cut and arranged on dishes a _damp_ cloth

was laid over them, and they were put in a cool place till just before

they were needed. Everything was now ready. Mrs. Winfield’s reserve

cups and saucers had all been got out and dusted; Mrs. Lennox had sent

over a dozen. These were put in readiness, with piles of small plates,

napkins, etc., on a large tray to be brought in and placed by the

sideboard when the time came.

OMELET SOUFFLÉ.—Molly beat four whites of eggs till they would not slip

from the bowl, just before dinner, and then the yolks of two she beat

four minutes with three table-spoonfuls of powdered sugar and one

tea-spoonful of vanilla extract.

When Marta was ready to put the dinner on the table, Molly turned the

whites of the eggs on the yolks, and mixed them very gently, _lifting_

the yolks as it were _over_ the whites with the spoon, not stirring

them; any quick movement with whites of eggs tends to liquefy them;

then she buttered an oval dish and heaped the mixture lightly on it, a

table-spoonful at a time, piling always towards the middle; then she

sifted powdered sugar over it, and just before she went in to dinner

she put it in the oven, which was moderately hot.

“It will take about ten minutes to get a golden brown, Marta, and when

you look at it be careful not to fully open the door, for the least

draught may cause it to fall; and when it is nicely brown bring it in

without waiting for anything. I will have the table ready for you.”

CHAPTER XXXVII.

GÂTEAU DE RIZ—FRENCH RICE CAKE—PREPARING CALF’S HEAD—MOCK-TURTLE

SOUP—MORE NOODLES—PIGEON PIE.

OF course Molly’s supper was a success, and of course there were many

who thought it must have cost a great deal more than the amount usually

expended; but when there was a comparison of expenses there was nothing

to be said, for Molly was well within the lowest, and then every one

wanted to know how it was done, and especially how the sandwiches were

made, such a pleasant change were they from the usual thing, good as

it is. Molly was not experienced in quantities needed, and had feared

something might fall short, but there were both _consommé_ and cakes

left.

“Shall we have to live on ‘stale party’ the rest of the week, Molly?”

Harry had asked.

“You’ll have ‘stale party’ soup a couple of times, but no other

reminiscence shall be served up.”

And to give Marta an opportunity of showing her way of making noodles

to Mrs. Welles, Molly decided to have noodle soup and roast beef for

dinner.

They all three set to work to remove the traces of the night before.

While Marta swept, Molly and her friend washed up dishes and returned

them to their places. When all was done, Molly said, “What can I make

with the spare yolks of eggs from yesterday?”

“How many are there?”

“Four,—two from the omelette soufflé and two from clearing the soup.”

“Then make a French rice cake for dinner.”

“You make it, for I don’t know how. And now you are here, I want to

cook a calf’s head. You are fond of it, I know, and one is too much for

us alone; besides, there are so many English ways of cooking it. I only

know one.”

“Get the head, and I will show you half a dozen dishes from it. Do you

want mock-turtle soup?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Then we will use half for that purpose, and the other we will do

various things with.”

Molly had already ordered her butcher to get one for her one day this

week. He had sent word it would be ready this morning, and she was

expecting it.

Calf’s head, although a fashionable dish, either as mock-turtle or

any of the several ways in which it is served, is, like some other

things with an awe-inspiring name, a very economical one, especially in

country places, where calves’ heads have few buyers. For this reason

Molly wanted to perfect herself in preparing it. By the time Mrs.

Welles had put a small cup of rice on to boil in a pint and a half of

milk, the head came. She watched the rice come to the boil, then put it

where it would simmer slowly, and turned her attention to the head. It

was a very good one, for Molly had said if it were not fat she would

not care to have it. She had also directed it to be split. He had asked

her if she wanted it skinned.

“No, indeed; only scalded and the hair scraped off.”

“I only asked, because some folks like them skinned.”

Molly was relating this to Mrs. Welles and preparing her to see the

head either skinned in spite of her order, or else sent with the hair

half on when it came, but it was really very well dressed.

“I’m going to let you prepare it, Charlotte, and look on, for I have

only seen it done once at a cooking-demonstration.”

“Very well, you attend to the rice, then, and keep it from burning. It

must stew slowly, with the cover tight on it, till it will mash into a

paste, and more milk added if required.”

Mrs. Welles laid the head open on a meat-board, and then removed the

tongue and brains, being very careful not to injure them. She laid

them in a dish of water, in which was a small cup of vinegar, until

they were needed for use; then she took out the membrane of the nasal

passages and washed the head in salt and water. This done, she put the

head in a pot and covered it with six quarts of cold water. It was to

boil very slowly two hours. Into the water she put a large carrot, a

turnip, and an onion, with six sprigs of parsley, two bay leaves, half

a tea-spoonful of marjoram and the same of thyme (these herbs were tied

up in a bit of muslin), and a small table-spoonful of salt, with half a

tea-spoonful of pepper.

By the time this was done the rice was cooked thoroughly, and it was

as stiff as could be stirred and turned out into a bowl, when it was

sweetened, a tiny pinch of salt put into it, a large tea-spoonful of

vanilla extract, and the grated rind of a lemon; and when a little

cool, the beaten yolks of eggs, and all was stirred together. It was

now about the consistence of stiff mush. A square shallow pan was

thickly buttered, and strewed with bread crumbs, and the rice put into

it. The pan used was a small-sized dripping-pan, and the rice formed a

layer an inch and a half deep. It was made very smooth over the top,

and then a little butter was oiled and poured on it; the pan was then

so moved that the butter ran over the rice in every direction; sugar

was then sifted all over it a quarter of an inch deep, and the whole

was put in the oven to bake till a fine brown.

“If you want that to be extra fine, Molly, at any time, chop a cup of

almonds quite fine, and strew them over with the sugar. When it is

baked, let it get cold in the pan, then turn it out and cut it into

strips or tablets an inch broad and two or three in length. They should

be put on a dish in the ice-box before serving, to be ice cold.”

When the calf’s head had been boiling very slowly two hours, it was

taken carefully from the water and one half of it was laid aside; the

other half was to be for dinner. This was wiped, the inside bones

carefully taken out, and it was closely scored through the outer skin;

then it was washed over with a beaten egg and thickly covered with fine

bread crumbs, in a cup of which half a tea-spoonful of salt, half a

salt-spoonful of pepper, a tea-spoonful of finely-chopped parsley, and

the third of one of thyme or savory, had been thoroughly mixed. This

was to be basted with butter melted in a cup until all the crumbs were

moistened, and then baked till brown. If the crumbed surface looked dry

in the oven, it must be again basted. This was to be garnished with

little rolls of bacon, made by cutting thinnest slices, trimmed from

rind and smoke, rolled round the finger, and laid on a tin in a quick

oven till clear and crisp, but not overdone.

Mrs. Welles got everything ready early, put the half head on the

dish ready to go into the oven at five o’clock, cut the bacon, and

told Molly what the gravy was to be, so that she might make it while

she herself went on with mock-turtle soup, which was for next day’s

(Sunday) dinner.

“You can have almost any sauce; English sauce piquante is very nice, or

brown mushroom sauce.”

“What is English sauce piquante?”

“I call it so, although the old-fashioned name for it is _Wow Wow_

sauce.”

“Let’s try it, if you like it.”

“I do. This is the recipe: Chop fine a dessert-spoonful of capers,

the same of parsley, and one large pickled walnut or two small. Put a

table-spoonful of flour and one of butter to get brown together in a

saucepan; put to them, stirring all the time, half a pint of stock or

the broth you have—that in which the head was boiled will do; when it

boils, mix a tea-spoonful of dry mustard with a table-spoonful of wine,

half one of vinegar, and a tea-spoonful of red currant or cranberry

jelly, and one of Worcestershire sauce. Let all simmer till of a creamy

thickness, season to taste, and last add the capers and pickles. It

is a convenient sauce, because you can vary the flavor as you like,

putting pickled cucumber instead of walnut or capers, any other store

sauce instead of Worcestershire, and cider in place of wine, and if you

have no jelly, a lump of sugar. The characteristic of the sauce is to

be a very little sour, a very little sweet, and a little hot, with an

agreeable flavor beside.”

The bones that had been taken from the part of the head that was to

bake were put back in the pot, the meat was cut from the other half in

neat pieces and laid between two dishes to keep it flat, and all the

liquor that ran from it, with the rest of the bones, was put back to

boil with the liquor till it was reduced to three quarts.

“Now, Molly, as it is impossible to tell how strong or weak dried herbs

are, and mock-turtle is a highly flavored soup, I am going to adopt the

plan of making essence of the herbs and use just enough.”

So saying, she put into a little saucepan two tea-spoonfuls of chopped

parsley, three quarters of one of marjoram, three quarters of one of

savory and the same of lemon thyme, and a bay leaf and a half.

“Now I’ll put these to boil, closely covered, in half a pint of water

for twenty minutes, then squeeze out as much of the goodness as I can,

and add this herb juice to the soup, little by little, till we get the

right flavor.”

As the soup was more than sufficient to serve for two dinners, it was

decided to flavor it all, then divide it, and have one half thick

mock-turtle, the other clear. The thick was for Sunday’s dinner, as Mr.

Welles, who was coming to dinner, was particularly fond of it. While

the soup was boiling down Mrs. Welles prepared egg balls to serve with

it, Molly made some rough puff paste (see Chapter VI.) for pigeon pie,

and when that was done Marta was ready to make noodles.

The egg balls were made as follows: Two eggs boiled hard, the yolks

pounded with a half tea-spoonful of finely chopped parsley, half a

salt-spoonful of salt, a scant quarter one of _white_ pepper, made

into stiff paste with raw yolk of egg, and moulded into balls, size of

marbles. Each ball was rolled in white of egg beaten a little; when

well coated they were dipped in flour and dropped into boiling water

for two minutes. These were part to be served in the thick soup next

day, the rest left for the clear mock-turtle.

Marta used one egg for the noodles, a pinch of salt, and flour enough

to make part of it into a smooth paste about as large as a small egg;

this she worked smooth and laid aside; to the rest she added more

flour, and did _not work into a smooth paste_, but into a rough,

crumbly sort of ball; this, she explained, was for the quickest made

and most generally used noodles, in the part of Germany she came from.

She took a coarse grater and grated the rough ball into coarse crumbs

that looked like yellow tapioca; these could be dried carefully in a

very cool oven, and used whenever wanted. Then she took the smooth ball

she had made, and asked Molly whether she would like her to make the

ribbon noodles as before (see recipe, Chapter XXV.), or another sort.

“Oh, another, by all means!”

She then grated on the smooth ball of paste just a suspicion of nutmeg,

put the least bit of butter on her hand,—a bit as large as a small

hazel nut,—and rolled the ball and worked it over till the nutmeg and

butter were in it; then she cut the paste into pieces as large as a

hazel nut, made each into olive shapes, and they were finished.

“Thank you, Marta, we will have those in our soup to-night. I think I

remember eating them in Germany.”

Molly had already prepared a pair of pigeons. She now put on to stew

very slowly, with half a pint of water, a pound of juicy round steak,

for the pigeon pie, which she intended to make next day. When the steak

had simmered an hour and a half, it was taken up and put away. The

calf’s tongue was parboiled, to be used on Monday.

The next morning Molly made the pie directly after breakfast. Laying

the steak, cut into finger-lengths, at the bottom of a deep oval

dish, the birds were divided into halves, and both steak and pigeons

seasoned highly with pepper and salt. The birds were laid over the

steak, placing them so that the pie would be dome-shaped when covered;

two eggs were hard boiled and cut in four and the pieces laid among

the meat; then a _small_ half cup of water was poured in; the gravy

from the steak was left to pour in hot when the pie was cooked. The

pie was then finished in the same way as the veal and ham pie (see

recipe Chapter XXXII.), except that the feet of the two birds were put

in boiling water for a moment, the skin rubbed off them, leaving them

a bright crimson, and a slit was made at each end of the groove that

went round the pie, and two of the little feet put in each, the claws

outwards.

Mrs. Welles gave Marta the pieces of calf’s head that were to go into

the soup, told her to put them in half an hour before dinner, let them

simmer, and just before serving she was to put into the quart, which

was all that was to be made hot, a table-spoonful of brown thickening,

a glass of wine, and the juice of half a lemon, with half the egg

balls. The pigeon pie would need an hour to bake, and was to be kept in

a very cold place until twelve.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

ONE MORE USE FOR SOUP MEAT—STEWED CALF’S TONGUE—BRAINS, AU BEURRE NOIR

(BROWN BUTTER)—CALF’S HEAD—HOLLANDAISE SAUCE—CALF’S HEAD EN TORTUE.

“MOLLY, what are you going to do with all that beef from _consommé_?”

asked Mrs. Welles, on the Monday after the reception.

“I have usually made hash of it and given it to a family who need all

the help they can get; but there is so much, I am inclined to try an

experiment. Would not part do to make an imitation of that mock brawn

that is so good in London? What is the recipe?”

“That is made with new beef and pork, but if the jelly can be supplied,

it would be very nice and savory treated exactly as if it were new

meat.”

“So I thought, and I got from the butcher the day I bought the beef two

hocks of pork. It’s early for pork, but he assured me this was killed

right on a farm here, and I could see it was really good, although I

must say I think November early enough, as a rule, for pork.”

“It’s a little different when you buy it in that way. What are you

going to do with the feet, or ‘hocks’ as you call them?”

“They have been cleaned and laid in salt; to-morrow they will be salt

enough. I think of boiling them till the bones slip out, cutting the

flesh in small bits, and putting the bones back into the water and

boiling till there is no more goodness in them; but as the beef is

over-cooked, I don’t want the pork to be so; then strain the liquor,

which will be solid jelly when cold. I think two quarts and a pint of

water may be put on the hocks,—that will leave rather less than two

quarts when boiled slowly for three hours with the lid on,—then I shall

choose the firmest pieces of the beef, cut them into large dice, and

put them into the liquor with the pork; but I want you to give me the

seasoning of the regular recipe, if you brought it.”

“Yes; as you wrote you wanted some English pickling and curing recipes,

I brought my little book; but I advise you to remember the difference

in climate.”

“Yes, I do; but I know a family who have the most delicious bacon and

ham, and they use old country recipes in curing.”

“Very well, then, I came supplied.” She took from her pocket

a note-book. “The seasoning for mock brawn is as follows: Two

tea-spoonfuls of salt, one of ground allspice, one of black pepper, one

of sugar, half a tea-spoonful of marjoram dried and rubbed fine, half

one of thyme.”

“I think I’ll use sage instead of thyme, and I fancy it will prove a

very savory dish to eat cold.”

Of the calf’s head there was still the tongue, the brains, nearly two

quarts of clear mock-turtle soup, a small platter of the pieces of the

head boiled, and some of the baked head.

“It’s rather an absurd joint to buy for such a small family as ours,

unless one is prepared to eat it in every form for three days.”

“Well, it will keep a few days, but the brains and tongue must be used

soon, as they spoil easily. Suppose you have stewed tongue for dinner

to-day, with brains and brown butter? The rest of the head and soup can

be left for a day or two this weather, and I will prepare them at once.”

They went to the kitchen together, and Mrs. Welles began by taking the

skin off the tongue, which had been parboiled on Saturday; then she

trimmed it neatly and cut little strips of salt pork, parallel with the

rind, as thick as a match, and larded it; then she put into a small

stone pot that had a cover two slices of fat pork, a tea-spoonful of

chopped parsley, half an onion, a bay leaf, a salt-spoonful of salt,

half one of pepper, and half a tea-spoonful of thyme. She sprinkled

the tongue with salt and pepper, laid it in the jar, and round it cut

a carrot in slices; over this she poured a cup of soup and covered it

close. It was to bake three hours and a half. When done it was to be

taken up and the gravy strained and skimmed; the tongue was to be laid

in a dish, with green peas round it, and the gravy poured over it.

She also cleaned the calf’s brains, carefully removing all the slime

and fibrous skin, but without breaking them; then she told Marta to put

them, half an hour before dinner, into well-salted water in which was

a small bunch of parsley and a bay leaf, to boil for twenty minutes;

then she was to have ready some fried circles of bread, the size of a

tea-cup and half an inch thick. (See _frying_, Chapter IV.) When the

brains were done they were to be taken up and divided, and a neat piece

put on each round of bread, and on the centre of each a small piece of

pickled gherkin or red beet, and then they were to have poured over

them brown butter, made as follows: One table-spoonful of butter melted

in a little saucepan till it was a pale brown (not the least burnt),

then a tea-spoonful of lemon juice and the same of finely chopped

parsley was to be put in it. She warned her if the butter should get

the least bit too dark it would be spoilt, and it would darken even in

carrying from the range to the table, therefore to remove it as soon as

the color _began_ to change.

The following were the ways in which the remains of the head were

disposed of. Though Molly was tired of it by the time it was gone,

Harry was not, and she could not but recommend it to Mrs. Lennox as an

economical dish to have for a large family, provided she bought only a

large fleshy head; a bony one is not worth the trouble of cooking.

The pieces already boiled in the soup made two small _entrées_ for

Wednesday and Thursday; the first was simply some pieces simmered half

an hour in a very little of the soup, then taken up and a Hollandaise

sauce poured over it. (See recipe, Chapter XXIX.) The second was the

quite celebrated one.

CALF’S HEAD EN TORTUE, made as follows: A table-spoonful of butter

was melted in a saucepan, a table-spoonful of flour mixed with it

and allowed to bubble; then a cup of the clear soup reserved for the

purpose was put to it and stirred, to make a thick, smooth sauce; the

juice of a large tomato (Molly used a little pulp of canned tomato, as

the season was over) was strained to it, and the liquor from half a can

of mushrooms and a dozen of the mushrooms; the pieces of meat were laid

in this sauce and stewed for twenty minutes very gently, with great

care that they might not burn. While this was cooking, a small saucepan

was put on, half full of fat, and made _very hot_; then one egg for

each person was broken into separate cups; these were dropped one at a

time into the smoking fat, just as if it were water, and they were to

be poached; one minute was enough to brown each one, and _only one was

done at a time_, or while one was taken out the other would harden in

the intense heat of the fat. The eggs were perfectly round and brown.

They were laid round the dish of meat, and between them tiny green

gherkins.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

IDEAS AND SUGGESTIONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.

MRS. LENNOX came in to call on Mrs. Welles later the same day. Her

Maggie had been with her now several days, and she could judge how far

she was likely to be of use to her. Molly had been anxious to know

the result of the experiment, for she felt deeply interested in her

neighbor, and that if Maggie should prove more a trial than comfort she

might perhaps have contributed by her advice to that result. After a

little conversation about Mrs. Welles’s visit and her long acquaintance

with Molly, the latter asked how she got on with the new inmate.

“For the first three or four days it seemed a failure, but I am hopeful

now of better things; she is strong, seems willing, and I think is

trying to do. At all events I almost think if she never gets beyond

the point of washing dishes, taking up ashes, making fires, preparing

vegetables and washing I shall be the gainer, for that drudgery left me

no time for the lighter work to be properly done.”

“Oh, but if she does those things willingly, and as you tell her, she

will not stop there, I think; Mrs. Framley was speaking of her sister,

and says she is of thoroughly good stock, and that is a great deal.

The good-for-nothing girls one meets with usually come from thriftless

stock.”

“Well, I’m going to hope for the best, and as I’m not expecting too

many of the cardinal virtues for a few dollars a month, perhaps I may

not be disappointed; and now, my dear Mrs. Bishop, I am going to ask

you to give me a few recipes of economical dishes for a family like

ours. Until I talked with you, I only knew of pot-pie and Irish stew,

both badly made, and though I have a cookery-book which you tell me is

excellent, I never made anything come quite right out of it.”

“In justice to the cooking-book, and indeed to latter day cooking-books

in general, I think, perhaps, if you’ll forgive me, that may have been

because you did not know enough of the elements of cooking.”

“I certainly did not, and although I know little now, I feel so very

much wiser than I did a month ago that I look back in wonder. There’s

another reason why I could not use my cookery-book,—it always wanted

something I had not in the house by way of flavoring; then I shut up

the book and cooked in my own old way.”

“One of your American worthies, ‘Josiah Allen’s wife,’ I think, says:

‘It’s the flavorin’ as does it,’” said Mrs. Welles; “and I think fifty

cents expended in flavorings a very good investment, from an economical

point of view.”

“Yes, if one lives in New York one can buy all sorts of sweet herbs,

and dry them. At the same time I don’t think Mr. Lennox likes them.”

“I have known many people who thought they did not like them because

they had never had them properly used, or at least when properly used

they enjoyed the dish without knowing that it contained herbs at all;

in the same way I have known people who used Worcestershire sauce in

everything, and who would even ruin clear soup by pouring it in, vow

and protest they could never touch anything that had the faintest

suspicion of garlic; Worcestershire sauce has more than a suspicion of

garlic. I know others who will eat no pickles but Crosse & Blackwell’s,

which likewise owe the subtle difference between them and all others

equally to the effect of garlic; so carefully used however that only by

making pickles with and without that suspicion of the malodorous herb

can you see why many other pickles lack ‘just something.’”

“Well—I’m willing to be instructed, so willing that if I’d time

and money I would go to New York and go through a course at a

cooking-school.”

“Ah! If every young wife did that, what years of work and vexation she

would save herself; it is such up-hill work teaching one’s self from

books; it’s like trying to play a piece of music without having learned

to count time; after months, if you knew the notes, you might, by your

ear, make something out of it; but think of the toil! So it is with

recipes,—without the key, how can any one cook? to be told what goes

into a pot, and to ‘stew it gently’ so long, and you don’t know what

gentle stewing is! You are told to put your meat in the oven and bake

it ‘beautifully brown,’ and you don’t know that to brown beautifully

your oven must be just so hot when it goes in, and that if you have

water in your pan, it will steam, not bake; and so on.”

Molly smiled; Mrs. Welles was on her hobby.

“Yes, that’s all true, and I only wish I had the first year of my

married life to go over again, before a family came in the way of my

doing what I would like.”

“To revert to the question of flavorings,” put in Molly. “I found all

I wanted at the grocery; they put up sweet herbs of all kinds now very

nicely, in paper boxes, a box of thyme _leaves_ (be sure and get the

_leaves_ rather than the powdered herb) or marjoram leaves cost but

five cents each. Now while parsley is so plentiful and cheap I shall

buy ten cents’ worth and dry it for winter.”

“I did not know parsley would dry and retain its flavor.”

“It will not if done as we dry other herbs; it must be quickly done by

heat; if put in a cool oven with the door open, or in a plate-warmer,

it will dry in a few hours; then it can be rubbed fine and put in a

tin box. I think a box of lemon thyme, one of savory, one of marjoram,

one of sage, with five cents’ worth of bay leaves,—twenty cents in

all,—will give you all the herb flavorings generally called for, and

last a year if you like them as sparingly used as I should use them.

Spices most people have, I would almost say ‘unluckily,’ remembering

how sadly too much spice mars much of our American cooking; but I will

give you several recipes, and if you have difficulty with them let me

know. I think perhaps when the cold weather comes in we might do a

little economy together.”

“How?”

“By buying meat in large quantities, beef by the quarter, mutton by the

half sheep; my family is too small to make such a way of buying wise,

but you have several mouths to feed, and none would go to waste.”

Mrs. Lennox looked dubious and said:

“I used to think about it. Mr. Lennox suggested he should buy a quarter

of beef, as he knew some one who did so all through the winter and

found it profitable, but a lady who had also tried the plan told me

there was no profit in it, for there was so much waste,—so much coarse

meat that she could make no use of.”

“In that case there would be no real economy, but there need be no

waste, and should be none, and no one need eat coarse food. I mean,

properly prepared no part of beef need be coarse; if a piece of brisket

or flank were served up as a roast, or the leg broiled, that would

indeed be coarse; but each cooked in its appropriate way, they would be

far from being so.”

“But the fat,—there is so much of it!”

“But what more useful than beef fat, or more wholesome? It is next to

butter, I think.”

“That is true; but my friend, I know, could not use it, and said she

was so thankful to see the last of that beef.”

“The only objection usually urged against it, and I think a very

reasonable one, is that the family must eat beef or mutton, whichever

is in the house, constantly till it is gone; but I do not see even that

necessity, for in cold weather the meat will keep so well that some

change can be had, and then in winter, even for my small use, I would

not fear to buy half a sheep; I could make it keep a month, unless

the weather broke; then I would manage to preserve it; but if _I_ had

mutton and you had beef, we could certainly change sometimes; though

half a sheep used during a month would not necessitate monotony, for

one could have many things between.”

“What would you do with mutton fat?”

“That, I grant, is not so available; but there is less of it, and I

should try it out and make soup. The actual saving is considerable,

especially in mutton. It is rare to get chops under twenty cents a

pound; leg fourteen, if you buy them separately, which is the frequent

way, while the half sheep can be bought in Washington Market for ten or

eleven cents a pound; the latter is an outside price (a butcher would

buy for less) for prime mutton, while beef hind quarter would be for

buyers like ourselves thirteen or fourteen cents a pound, unless there

is some temporary rise in the market, when of course one need not buy;

but that is the average price in New York.”

“How do you know all this?” asked Mrs. Lennox in amazement. “I mean,

how do you know what the prices are now?”

Molly laughed. “In this particular instance I made special inquiry or

asked Mrs. Welles to do so; but I keep pretty well up in such matters

by the Saturday editions of some of the evening papers, although I

usually add a couple of cents a pound to the quotations for prime meats

to allow for any difference there may be. I do it, however, only from

curiosity, for I could not buy my own meat so, even if my family were

large, for Mr. Bishop is not experienced enough to buy and send it out.”

“Nor is Mr. Lennox, but he has a friend who has bought so for years,

and who also, when game and poultry are cheap, and I believe they often

are as cheap as meat, sends that home to his wife too; and Mr. Lennox

enjoys going with him, and once in a while has sent us home turkeys

when they have been very low in price.”

“Then I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll write out several recipes to use

up the parts of the beef that you will not broil or roast, so that you

will not be forced to eat beef exclusively in order to get rid of it

before it spoils. I will do the same with the mutton.”

“But, my dear Mrs. Bishop, how can I possibly trouble you so far? What

can I do for you in return?”

“I know something you can easily do. Let me have part of your beef or

mutton when you get it; we’ll take turns about the prime parts,—I have

as much use for coarse ones sometimes; and ask Mr. Lennox once in a

while when he is buying meat with his friend and game is cheap, to send

me out some. In New York prairie hens and partridges are sometimes a

dollar a pair; then they are cheaper than meat to those fond of them as

we are. Yet Mrs. Framley says she never knew them less than two dollars

a pair here. Then the writing will not be much trouble to me, for while

Mrs. Welles is here I intend to get some recipes from her; the one copy

will do for both of us.”

“I’m afraid I’m getting all the good of that arrangement.”

“No, it’s a case of give and take between us. You learn cooking from

me, I learn something as valuable from you.”

“You are kind enough to say so.”

After Mrs. Lennox had gone, Mrs. Welles asked what Molly meant by

saying she was learning something just as valuable.

“Mrs. Lennox has the best-trained children I ever knew. They are full

of fun and frolic, yet cheerfully obedient to her, and as the subject

is likely to interest me, I have observed them very closely, and

asked her whether they were unusually amiable or whether it was due

to training. She told me she did not do much training, nor were the

children specially amiable; and it is true there seems less _small_

restriction in her family than in most others where the children are

‘regular pickles.’”

“How does she manage them?”

“I hardly think she knows herself. She says she makes few rules, and

those the children hardly know of; they only know there are a few

things they dare not do; but I notice they never ask her for a thing

twice, and that is because she says she never denied anything she knew

she might be induced to grant; so they know pleading or worrying is

thrown away, and four happier children you never saw. I asked her once

if her babies were as good as they are when older. She said two were no

trouble; her first was a restless one for the first three months and

the last was sick; but she will not believe that well babies would be

cross or restless if properly managed, and she gave me her experience

with the first one. Of course I know nothing from experience; I can

only observe and read and think, and I, too, hope to have a good baby

if it is a well one.”

“Dear me! I should not have thought Mrs. Lennox was a woman to have

strongly-formed ideas on the subject.”

“No, I don’t believe she thinks so herself. I don’t even know that she

has formulated her ideas. She may have acted only on instinct, but the

result is charming; if you were to see her children you would say so.”

CHAPTER XL.

ENGLISH MUFFINS AND CRUMPETS—PICKLING AND CURING—ROAST

BEEF-HEART—SOUSED MACKEREL.

MRS. WELLES’S visit was to have been a week only; but at the end of it

it seemed as if they had but just got to the point of enjoying each

other, and Mr. Welles was induced to spare her for a few days longer.

“I declare, Molly, when I came here I expected to do so much, both for

you and myself, and I’ve done nothing.”

“Oh, yes; just consider my entertainment, what you did to help me in

that; but there’s one thing I want this very day, that is, English

muffins and crumpets. I have tried once or twice from recipes in my

English cook-books, but they always give the quantities for a bakery,—a

peck of flour, sometimes a bushel,—and it is difficult to reduce to my

small needs; besides, I know success depends on consistency, and there

is very little guidance given. ‘Water to make a soft dough’ is only

stated; _how_ soft is not hinted, and the so-called English muffins in

our books are very good as muffins, only they don’t happen to be the

thing at all.”

“I know it is really only a question of consistency. I will make some

this very day, if you have yeast in the house.”

“Yes, I am especially anxious to have them, because they are as good

two days old as one, and in a little family like ours that is a great

thing.”

It was Monday, and by the time the muffins had risen, washing would be

over and the top of the fire free.

“We’ll go out and set them now.”

The setting was very simple, being only the making of a stiff

bread-sponge. Half a cake of yeast was dissolved in a pint and a half

of warm milk, into which a scant tea-spoonful of salt, two of sugar

and one large one of butter warmed, were stirred. Into this as much

dry, sifted flour was mixed (_about_ three pints) as would make an

exceedingly stiff batter, in fact “stiffer than batter, softer than

dough” may serve as an indication of the consistency, or “_almost_ too

stiff to stir, _quite_ too soft to knead.” When this was beaten long

and hard, one third was put into another bowl and this was thinned

down with warm milk to a batter that would pour slowly. This was for

crumpets, the only difference between the two being in consistency.

They were covered and put behind the range to rise.

“Now let me have your book, Charlotte; I have the time, and will copy

out what I want; but first give me a recipe for cooking beef heart.

I remember what a good dish it was, and they are only ten or fifteen

cents each, and there must be at least two pounds of solid meat in one.”

“There is; the only objection is the quickness with which heart chills,

and the taste of cold suet is very disagreeable. This may be obviated

by careful preparation, however; here is the recipe:

“Cut off the gristle and the ‘deaf ear,’ as the tough red lobe at the

top is called, if the butcher has not done it, and trim off all the fat

as closely as possible; then lay the heart in boiling water for half

an hour, keeping it just simmering. When thus parboiled, dry it well

and fill the three holes with nice stuffing, either sage, onion and

bread crumbs made with equal proportions of boiled onions and crumbs,

and chopped with ten large sage leaves to the pint, which must be dried

till they powder, or highly seasoned veal-stuffing made as follows:

“VEAL-STUFFING.—Two ounces of beef suet, chopped very fine, four ounces

of bread crumbs, one table-spoonful of chopped parsley, and half one

each of thyme and marjoram, and the juice of half a lemon, half a

tea-spoonful of salt, a pinch of pepper and a suspicion of nutmeg.

“Fill the heart full of whichever of these stuffings is preferred, but

do not press it in tight. Skewer over the top several thin slices of

fat pork, dredge it with flour, and bake it one hour and a half in a

good oven. Make gravy of a cup of good soup or broth, poured into the

pan in which the heart was baked, and thickened with a tea-spoonful

of brown thickening. Many people like red currant jelly made hot and

served with it as sauce. The platter and plates must be very hot and

the heart covered as it goes to table.

“The next day it can be warmed over by cutting it into slices and

gently stewing it in a rich gravy. It is nicer than venison thus

prepared.”

When Molly had this written in her book she opened the one Mrs. Welles

handed to her and, to select from the many there, read, before copying,

the recipes that would be most useful to herself and Mrs. Lennox.

“I see you have preliminary remarks which will be valuable.”

“Yes, my mother’s experience, not my own; but she was a

North-of-England woman and thought the London cured meat not worth

eating.”

Under the head of _general rules_ Molly read:

Avoid salting meat in hot weather; from October to April is the right

season. If forced to do it, however, cut it up and sprinkle it with

salt before the animal heat leaves it. If hung even for an hour, there

is danger from flies.

In cool weather, meat should hang three or four days to get tender

before eating, but be very careful it does not become frost-bitten. In

very cold weather, make the salt hot before using it.

The great art in salting meat is to turn it every day carefully,

rubbing salt under every flap or double part, and filling all holes

with salt wherever a kernel has been cut out, or a skewer has been in.

Use as little salt as will preserve the meat, as it will leave it more

juicy and tender. Two ounces of bay salt, two of coarse sugar, and

three quarters of a pound of common salt is a good proportion, and is

enough for ten or twelve pounds of meat. Do not put on all the salt

at once; have it rolled and dried, and use half the first day, and

the remainder two or three days after. Then the blood from the first

salting must be drained off. Sugar preserves meat as well as salt;

hence its use, for it renders less salt necessary, and meat is more

tender with it. Saltpetre is only useful for reddening meat, but is apt

to harden it; if wanted red, however, take half an ounce of saltpetre

and one of coarse sugar; this must be rubbed in the third day after the

first slight salting; the common and bay salt the next day.

A small piece—eight or ten pounds—of pork or beef will require six or

seven days; a large piece may be allowed a fortnight.

PICKLING MEAT.—Many prefer to boil the meat in water, instead of

rubbing dry salt in. The proportions of this pickle are, two gallons of

water, three pounds of salt, half a pound of coarse brown sugar, two

ounces of saltpetre. Boil together and skim very well while boiling.

Let it become quite cold before putting in the meat, which must be

carefully wiped from slime or blood and any pipes or kernels removed.

All meat, while salting, should be kept closely covered.

DUTCH BEEF.—Get a fine piece of round of beef; rub it well with one

pound of coarse sugar. Do this twice a day for three days, using same

sugar. When the sugar has thoroughly penetrated the meat, wipe dry,

and salt with the following mixture: Common and bay salt, of each four

ounces; saltpetre and sal prunel, of each two ounces; black pepper

and allspice, of each one ounce. Rub well and continue to do so for a

fortnight, then roll the beef tight in a cloth, sew it up, and it is

ready for smoking. The smoking should be long enough to thoroughly and

slowly dry the meat, but not long enough for the covering to separate.

This beef may be cut and boiled as wanted. It should be pressed with

a weight till cold. This will keep two or three months after it is

boiled, if it is rubbed all over with hot fat (lard or suet melted),

and a layer of fat put over a fresh-cut surface. This is delicious if a

piece is cut off, put to dry slowly, and grated for sandwiches.

MUTTON HAMS.—Coarse sugar, bay salt, and common salt, equal parts, and

to each pound of this mixture add, of saltpetre and sal prunel, one

ounce each, of black pepper, allspice, juniper berries, and coriander

seeds, all bruised, half an ounce each. Dry them all before the fire,

and rub into the meat while hot. This is an excellent pickle for

tongues. Smoke as any other ham. Mutton hams are usually fried or

broiled in rashers, or _thin_ slices as you would pork ham.

WORCESTERSHIRE SAUSAGES.—These are made entirely of beef. Choose a

fine, juicy round steak; chop it extremely fine. Allow two parts lean,

one part fat, and one part bread crumbs; season pretty high with pepper

and salt (and allspice if liked). Allow to each pound eight sage

leaves, dried and rubbed fine, with half a salt-spoonful of knotted

marjoram. Put them in skins if you can, and cook as any other sausage.

RED BEEF FOR SLICING COLD.—The best part for this purpose is the thin

flank. Take off the skinny inside, and salt the meat for a week or ten

days with the following mixture rubbed in and turned morning and night:

Common salt, one pound; saltpetre and bay salt, each one ounce; coarse

brown sugar, a quarter of a pound. Pound and mix, using of the mixture

more or less according to the size of the meat. When salt enough, wipe

the meat dry; sprinkle over it black pepper, a little powdered mace and

cloves, an onion chopped fine and some parsley. Roll it up, bind it

tight with a strip of muslin, and boil it slowly three hours, or longer

if large. Press with a heavy weight without removing the band. When

cold remove the band and cut in very thin slices as required.

“Well, I think now if Mrs. Lennox and I get meat in large quantities

this winter, we shall not need to let any of it spoil for lack of ways

to keep it,” said Molly, as she prepared to copy the recipes she had

read.

“No; but remember that mutton will keep for six weeks in cold, dry

weather, even when not frozen, if it is well floured and a little

ginger is put in the crevices. If it freezes and then thaws, it will

generally need cooking, but the longer you can keep it the better it

will be, so that it does not taint. The outer skin may even get mouldy,

but you will only scrape the skin and trim it. If very mouldy and

likely to give a taste, plunge it, after scraping, into boiling water;

dry it thoroughly and bake in a very sharp oven. But all meat for

keeping must _hang_, not _lie_, and hang in a current of _pure_ air.”

“Thank you for the hint. What is this? Soused mackerel?” She had turned

to the end of the note-book as she spoke. “I remember eating them at

your house, and how good they were; that recipe also is going down in

my book.”

SOUSED MACKEREL.—Clean, but do not split, four or six fresh mackerel;

boil them in water just to cover, in which are one clove, three

allspice, one tea-spoonful of salt and a quarter one of pepper to each

fish. Take the fish out as soon as done, and before they break lay

them in a deep dish. Boil the water in which they were cooked down to

half; put to it an equal quantity of vinegar (unless the latter is very

strong, when one-third will do), and pour it over the fish.

SOUSED MACKEREL ANOTHER WAY—“and that is the way I like best,” said

Mrs. Welles, and Molly read: Put three or four mackerel in an earthen

dish, sprinkle over each mackerel a small tea-spoonful of salt, a sixth

of pepper, and allow to each two allspice and half a blade of mace and

half a bay leaf; mix vinegar and water in equal proportion, and pour

enough over to cover the fish; put them in a very slow oven for three

or four hours. By that time the liquor will have diminished until there

is only enough to serve with the fish. These fish will keep for several

weeks in cold weather. If the vinegar is very strong, use less in

proportion.

After luncheon, Mrs. Welles went to look at her muffins. They were

hardly light, but the crumpets were so nearly ready that she put on the

griddle.

“You happen to have a soap-stone griddle! that is the very thing needed

for muffins, though one can manage to bake on an iron one.”

“Yes, I am promising myself inodorous buckwheat cakes this winter with

that.”

It took the griddle half an hour to get thoroughly hot.

“Of course you have no crumpet-rings?”

“No; but if these are a success I shall get a few made; meanwhile,

won’t muffin rings do? They are the large, old-fashioned sort.”

“We must make them do; but I can’t bear anything not to look _just_

right. I never fancy they eat well if they do not.” Molly handed out

a bundle of large old rings which Mrs. Welles greased and laid on the

griddle; then, when they were hot, she poured into each batter to the

depth of a quarter of an inch, drawing the griddle a little back as

she did so. She did not attempt to turn them until the top was full of

holes and the batter had dried; then they were turned for about three

minutes; except that they were more slowly cooked, the baking was the

same as for what are usually called raised muffins, and they appeared

the same, but not quite so thick. They should not be more than half an

inch thick when cooked. When they were done the muffins were ready to

bake; the paste was like honeycomb.

“Now the whole difficulty with these is shaping them, and it requires

practice. I don’t know that I shall manage it; for it is years since I

made them.”

The pastry-board was put on the table, a good deal of flour spread on

it, and the paste turned out very gently.

“You see, Molly, that the griddle is hot, yet not too hot.”

As she spoke she lightly cut off bits of the soft dough about the size

of a duck’s egg. She could not touch them easily, for they were too

soft, but they were rolled about in the flour (taking care not to press

them), which was not worked into them, and they were left in a sort of

bed of it. When half a dozen were done, she took one up very gingerly,

tossing it gently back and forth between her floured hands, to get

rid of the superfluous flour, and also because she could not let them

remain in one position for fear of their sticking to her hands, yet

so carefully as not to press the lightness out. When she reached the

griddle she lightly dropped the muffin in as round a form as possible

on it. When half a dozen were put on in the same way, they were left to

swell and get round and dry-looking, before the griddle was put forward

to give them a slight browning. When the top looked no longer raw, they

were gently turned and left five minutes the other side. The baking

took about twenty minutes, and they were over an inch thick when done.

“I know one thing,—if _I_ make these, I will have rings made four

inches in diameter expressly for English muffins, although I know the

real ones are baked without rings. It can’t make much difference to the

quality, and will save much trouble to unpracticed hands.”

“I think so too.”

There were a great many more muffins and crumpets than were likely to

be used in their small family, and Molly said she should send some to

Mrs. Lennox.

“Then pray send the directions how to eat them, or they will simply put

them in the oven, and they will be like leather. When some people have

offered me real English muffins, bought at Pursell’s, with the crust

like leather, I have been astonished that they could like them, and

thought how they would enjoy them prepared in real English fashion.”

Molly penned a little note of directions as follows:

DEAR MRS. LENNOX:—I send you some English muffins and

crumpets made by Mrs. Welles, who is anxious that _you_

at least should eat them as they are eaten in her

country. She scouts the idea of their being simply made

hot in the oven, and is only surprised that, eaten

that way, they should be as much in favor as they are.

Both are to be toasted, and are better the day after

they are made. The crumpets are toasted both sides

until hot through, slightly browner and _crisp_; then

butter, very little salted, must be plentifully laid in

little bits on each one as it is toasted; then put it

in the oven while you toast the other. When the second

is done, the butter on the first will be soft enough

to spread without pressure. When all are buttered, cut

once through the middle.

The muffins are also toasted. They must be broken all

round the edge as if you were going to split them, then

toasted on _both_ sides until the crust will crack

under the thumb nail. Rip them open quickly, put a

bountiful supply of butter, in small pieces, on the

inside of each half; close it and put it in the oven

while another is being toasted. When it comes out the

butter will be melted. Never attempt to spread them

first, or they will be heavy. If the butter has not

spread all over, you may gently use a knife to make it

even, but _without pressure_. When each muffin is put

together again, spread a little butter on the outer

crust, and cut them through the middle.

The essentials are that they should be well toasted,

so as to be _hot_ through and crisp outside, then so

quickly buttered as not to get cold, and to be served

very hot. There is a covered dish on purpose, called

a muffineer, but lacking that, a hot bowl should be

turned over them to keep them hot.

It is English fashion, for tea, to serve both muffins

and crumpets. They are handed round together, a plate

of each, some preferring one, some the other. At

breakfast, muffins alone are usual. I just say the last

to round up the matter, not that I suppose you will

care one bit what the English mode of _serving_ is, but

I do think, for the sake of our digestion, we should

either eat them toasted or let them alone. I send you

over my receipt-book, in which I have copied some

things that may be useful to both of us. You tell me

Mr. Lennox writes out such things for you, and you can

keep the book until he has leisure.

Yours sincerely,

MOLLY BISHOP.

The pork hocks had been put on early for the mock brawn, and taken out

and boned. The stock was now made, and Molly seasoned and prepared it

in accordance with her plan. The pieces of pork, the seasoning, and

the best of the beef, cut into pieces about two inches square, and of

which there was about twice as much as there was pork, were put into

the liquor, heated once together, and then poured into a pan. It looked

rather like head cheese. When cold, it turned out in a slab. Part was

sent to Mrs. Lennox with an explanation of what it was; part to Mrs.

Gibbs, with the rest of the meat made into the usual hash for her; and

the remainder was kept for home purposes, for both Mrs. Welles and

Marta found it very relishing.

CHAPTER XLI.

THE BABY—CONCLUSION.

IT is July, nearly a year after Mr. and Mrs. Bishop began the

experiment of keeping house in Mrs. Winfield’s cottage, which has

become very dear to them both, although in three months they are to

leave it and go into one of their own. So charmed had Mr. Bishop,

senior, become with Harry’s home that he had been a frequent visitor

during the summer, and sometimes Mrs. Bishop, too, came; but society

engagements took her time, and when May came, she fled with her

daughters to a fashionable watering-place, and Mr. Bishop, instead of

staying as usual in his city house, came out to stay with his son,

and went in with him to business daily. The result was that Harry

was reinstated in his father’s favor, and it seemed as if the elder

gentleman was going to make amends for his past mistake; for he told

Harry he would now do what he always had meant to do until he found he

was bent on making a fool of himself.

“Not that your luck is anything to your credit,” he persisted; “it’s a

mere fluke your getting such a wife as Molly; but you’ll come into the

firm as junior at Christmas.”

This was what Harry had been brought up to expect, and the prospect

that he had to give up on marrying Molly. He was grateful to his

father, for after all, pleasant as life was for him even with his

narrow income, it was likely to be a great deal pleasanter when he

would not have to count every cent so closely.

“Yes, yes, you are one who has the luck to ‘eat his cake and have it

too,’” said the old gentleman irritably; “but I’m doing it just as much

for Molly and the baby as for you.”

Yes, there was a baby,—a baby just thirty-six hours old when Mr. Bishop

announced his intention to the young father; and Harry carried back to

Molly that evening a very glad heart. The baby was a girl, and Molly’s

only shadow was that Harry did not seem to admire it so much as she

thought it deserved.

“You mean to say you don’t think it’s pretty, Harry?” she had asked

when she exhibited the little red, squirming thing in its nest of

flannel.

Harry shook his head doubtfully. “I may see some beauty later when,

when it gets into some sort of shape, and its head is screwed tighter;

at present I don’t admire it, but, as Mark Twain says, ‘I’ve a certain

respect for it, for its father’s sake.’”

“Oh, Harry!”

This was in the morning before he left home, and when he returned at

night he went up to Molly’s room and kissed her. He thought she must

certainly see the good news in his face, so accustomed was he to her

reading his countenance.

“Well, Molly, don’t you want to know the news?”

“But you haven’t asked after the baby;—don’t you want to kiss it?”

“My dear Molly, your serenity told me how the baby was,—and—and I

wouldn’t disturb it to kiss it.”

“You never saw such a sleeper as she is; she won’t wake, and _I’ve_

hardly seen her eyes yet!”

“I hope she’ll continue such good habits; but now, Molly, I have great

news—news I expected some time, of course, but not quite so soon.”

Then he told the news, and Molly responded only by a closer pressure of

his hand.

“And that is not all; my father has decided to buy the Framley cottage

and rent it to us, and says he meant to give my wife a check as a

wedding present, had I married Miss Vanderpool, and now he sends it to

you.”

“Oh, Harry, how good of him! how much is it? That sounds greedy; but if

it is enough we can furnish with it.”

Harry opened his pocketbook and took out a check for $1,000. “You

must lay this by, Molly, for yourself; you know I have $3,000 which

we agreed never to touch except for some emergency; but now that my

prospects are assured I prefer to furnish for you, Molly, rather than

you for me.”

“What will be your income, Harry?”

“Oh, nothing very splendid, for I am only junior with a fifth interest,

but it is the certainty of the future that delights me.”

“Yes, and the proof of your father’s affection.”

“Yes, certainly.”

“You remember, Harry, what we promised each other,—that even with a

better income our expenses were not to be increased?”

“Not while I was on a salary, dear; but I am quite contented with the

last year of our life; I want nothing grander or better, but I do want

to see you in your own house furnished with your own taste, and replete

with all the conveniences that will make the housekeeping you love,

easy to you; and I shall insist on providing you with such assistance

as will save your health and strength. But I am not anxious for style

or show, and we will waste no money upon it.”

Nor did they.

Mr. Framley had built one of the handsomest houses in Greenfield, and

the charming Queen Anne cottage they had hitherto lived in had been for

sale. Molly had often pointed it out to her father-in-law and admired

its beautiful lawn and expatiated on the fruits and kitchen garden,

little supposing it would soon be her own home.

The only crumple in Molly’s rose leaves was Mrs. Bishop, senior’s,

views with regard to the baby. Molly had had no babies: her

mother-in-law had had eight, five of whom had lived and flourished. But

Molly had known other people’s babies, and had made their experience

her own, so far as observation enabled her to do it, and she had read

all the good writing there was on the baby question, and, as may be

expected, had her views and naturally wished to carry them out in the

person of her own baby. If a woman can’t do what she likes with her

_own_ baby, when is she to do it?

But, strange to say, the dowager, Mrs. Bishop, seemed to feel the new

comer was even more Harry’s baby and her own grandchild than Molly’s

child, and being her first “posterity,” she was very much interested in

it, and she and Mr. Bishop had come to the Greenfield hotel in order to

be at hand.

Very soon Molly, with her latter-day views of baby training, and Mrs.

Bishop, with her experience of eight, clashed. For days the struggle

was silent, for she was Harry’s mother; and all the directions for

giving anise-seed tea and gin and water, and paregoric, were quietly

disregarded,—but the tug of war came when Molly refused to nurse it

before the appointed hour.

“And you mean to say you will not feed that little creature till the

time _you_ think it needs it? Can _you_ judge of a baby’s hunger?”

“Mamma, I asked the doctor to guide me, and all the best writers say”—

“There it is!” cried Mrs. Bishop, triumphantly. “You are such a

theorist, Molly; but you can’t bring up a child by books, and it may

cost you this one’s life or health to find that out. I am surprised

a woman of your sense should not see that you can’t set up your book

experience against the practical knowledge of a mother of eight.”

Molly made no reply: she could not be cruel enough to hint that three

of the eight had died.

Happily for Molly and the carrying out of her views, Mrs. Lennox, who

had become a very dear friend, was with her very much, and it was her

nurse, an intelligent woman, who was in attendance; and between them

they had been able to save Molly much anxiety. She knew that her own

orders, and no one’s else, would be carried out; this otherwise would

have been a terrible anxiety; for her doctor had said to her, in one

of her talks with him before the birth of the child, “Half the babies’

stomachs are ruined in the first month, and the poor baby becomes a

victim to colic and indigestion through that month’s mistakes. Some

babies are born to it, but these are few compared with the many that

are made to suffer by bad habits.”

Mrs. Bishop, senior, disapproved of the nurse, and openly derided the

doctor, and audibly scorned the idea of putting a baby a fortnight old

in “training” and freely told her daughter that Molly was not fit to be

a mother; that she ought to have remained single and become a doctress,

or screeched for woman’s rights from a platform.

The excitement of the contention on Molly had to be stopped, and,

unknown to his wife, Harry, instigated by Mrs. Lennox, had to warn

his mother that she must leave Molly to her own ideas, even if they

were mistaken; and Mrs. Bishop had contented herself afterwards with

expressing her opinions and her fears. But when, in spite of all,

the baby flourished and grew fat, and seemed freer from the ills of

babyhood than the average, she averred it was owing to the cast-iron

constitution it had inherited from its father. She declared that “to

point to Molly’s child as a proof that the new ideas of bringing up

babies are better than the old is as reasonable as to point to the

health and strength of the Germans as a proof that babies ought to be

swaddled and bound on to boards for the first months of their lives, in

order to become so strong and straight. One forgets the number who die

under the process, and it is only the very strong who survive.”

And this, strangely enough, was exactly what Molly also said to herself

when she heard that Harry “actually owed his life to soothing syrup,”

which had enabled him to survive his teething troubles.

And so with a beautiful, healthy baby (whom, by the bye, Harry now

dandles with great pride), a new house, and the delightful task of

furnishing it, in these days of pretty furniture and dainty devices, we

leave Molly with as bright a future before her as a loving husband,

good health, good prospects and a resolve to be a good, true wife and

mother could give to any woman.

Of Marta there are a few words to be said. Those of Molly’s friends who

are not very often at the house consider Mrs. Bishop a very fortunate

woman in having such a treasure. Molly herself thinks so; but I doubt

if half those who so speak would have been satisfied with Marta’s

moderate gifts. She was a treasure because she was true and faithful in

everything. Her service was not better than that of any clean, strong,

willing girl, under the eye of an intelligent mistress.

“But Marta was such a wonderful cook!” some would say. Marta would

never be a good cook unguided; it was not in her; she had had the

exceptional advantage of training under a woman who, if she had needed

it, had qualified herself to teach cooking professionally; who cooked

scientifically from precise rules, and who herself had very little

to learn when she began with Marta, and who had patience as well as

knowledge.

How few girls have such a chance! We send girls to a cooking-school to

take twelve or twenty-four lessons, and we know that if they are of

the right material (and if not we should hardly send them), they leave

the school vastly improved, with quite different ideas from those who

have been through no such training; and Marta had been at such a school

daily for many months, yet, at the end of them, her accomplishments

were not many. She could fry, stew, roast, and make soup to perfection.

She could not be trusted to do anything that depended on _flavor_ or

_taste_; she never seemed to learn that one clove may be pleasant, half

a dozen detestable; that herbs should only lend a vague savoriness,

never be so strong as to make one feel they were partaking of marjoram

soup or parsley stew. But Molly knew her limitations and knew—take her

all in all—she was not likely to better herself by changing. A girl

of quicker wits might have been less faithful, or, if so bright as to

learn all Molly could teach, she would naturally and rightly wish to

take a place as professed cook, with her thirty or forty dollars a

month wages, and no washing. So Marta remained, a very devoted servant;

very exasperating sometimes, but at all times valuable.

Mrs. Lennox has only one thing to say; she does not regret taking

Maggie; she is no worse off in her pocket, and is better off in nerves

and muscles; the tired, overworked look is no longer conspicuous. She

is still overworked and overworried, but she has a strong pair of arms

to call upon, and they are willing to do the appointed task which Mrs.

Lennox always remembers she must otherwise have done herself. Maggie

needed watching at every turn the first few months; she now knows the

ways and does the work fairly well. She is no paragon, and if Mrs.

Lennox had no children she would rather be without her, but when she

gets out of patience she looks back and remembers how she had not even

time “to think” before she came; when she did sit down her muscles

ached and tingled so that even rest was a dull void, simply cessation

from exertion. Mrs. Lennox now does the cooking and the sewing; Maggie

does the work. She will never do more in the cooking way than boil

potatoes, make mush and bread (the latter well, for she knows only one

way and that is the way she does it), and burn or smoke a beefsteak.

But Mrs. Lennox will soon have either to pay her more, or take another

new arrival; that is inevitable.

It must not be thought that all Molly’s neighbors were as fond of her

as Mrs. Lennox. No one can live up to a higher ideal than the average

(even when the ideal is only cooking), without hurting some one’s

corns. Several ladies disapproved of her, thought she set a very bad

example by making men expect too much of their wives, and those who

lived very badly on double Harry’s income felt personally injured.

But all this Molly did not know; she did not suspect that her affairs

were known or discussed, but before leaving Greenfield Mrs. Winfield

had spoken, with the best intentions in the world, of this young

couple’s romantic marriage, and the bravery required of a young wife

to face life on $100 a month, with a husband brought up, as Harry had

been, in such splendor and luxury. This was naturally discussed till

the story became public property, unknown to the heroine of it, who had

no thought of setting an example, good or bad, or of shining brightly

by comparison with less clever or energetic women; indeed, she was

rather conscious of shortcomings of her own. She looked hopelessly on

the piles of sewing some of her friends got through, with very many

calls on their time besides, and could only comfort herself with the

thought that her abilities did not lie in that direction, and that she

could only do the best that was in her.

Another pleasure in store for Molly is that Mrs. Welles is soon to be

her neighbor; for Mr. Welles had promised to build a house near them,

in consequence of which Harry predicts that Greenfield will soon have a

rival to Soyer’s celebrated symposium.

INDEX.

Bacon and liver, 98.

Bananas, frozen, 179.

Beans, Lima, 48.

Bean soup, 173, 182.

Beef à la mode, 74.

Beef au gratin, 76.

Beef, braised, 97.

Beef, boiled corned, 126.

Beef, corned, hash, 122.

Beef, Dutch, 262.

Beef-heart, roast, 260.

Beef, miroton of, 169.

Beef pot-pie, 58.

Beef, red, for slicing cold, 263.

Beef, Soyer’s roast-braise, 159.

Beefsteak, broiled, 51.

Beefsteak pudding, 211.

Beefsteak, rolled, 128.

Beefsteak, stewed, 236.

Beef, stewed cannelon of, 128.

Beets, boiled, 126.

Biscuit, 10.

Bisque of clams, 102.

Bisque of oysters, 102.

Bouillon, 227.

Bouillon, to clear, 238.

Bread, 31, 32.

Bread, rye, 106.

Brown thickening, 93.

Butter thickening, 203.

Cabbage, 24.

Cake, cup, 38.

Cake, iced tablets, 231.

Cake, Madeleine, 168.

Cakes, various, 164.

Calf’s brains, 250.

Calf’s head, 242.

Calf’s head en tortue, 251.

Calf’s head with Hollandaise sauce, 251.

Calf’s tongue, stewed, 249.

Caper sauce, 199.

Caramel, 94.

Carrots, cones of, 74.

Cheese cakes, 210.

Cheese canapées, 47.

Cheese fondue, 84.

Cheese fritters, 75.

Cheese macaroni, 199.

Chicken, cleansing and preparing, 131.

Chicken croquettes, 72.

Chicken drumsticks, 83.

Chicken, fricasseed, 173.

Chicken, fried fricasseed, 192.

Chicken fritters, 73.

Chicken giblets, 131.

Chicken pie, 77, 83.

Chicken salad, 13.

Chicken sandwiches, 239.

Chops, breaded, 33.

Clams, bisque of, 102.

Clams, scalloped, 75.

Cochineal coloring, 229.

Codfish, boiled, 185.

Coffee, 14.

Coffee, iced cream, 167.

Consommé, 232.

Consommé à la royale, 191.

Corn muffins, 34.

Corned beef, boiled, 126.

Cream, whipped, 167.

Croquettes, chicken, 72.

Croquettes, lamb, 101.

Croquettes, potato, 175.

Croquettes, veal, 113.

Crumpets, English, 259.

Custard, boiled, 176.

Custard pie, 76.

Custard, royal, for soup, 191.

Dresden patties, 202.

Egg balls, 245.

Eggs, to preserve, in lime, 212.

Fish balls, 190.

Flounders, filet de sole, 127.

Flour thickening, 99.

Forcemeat balls, 208.

Fowl, fried fricasseed, 192.

Fowl, to make tender, 136.

French icing, 173, 177.

Fritters, cheese, 75.

Fritters, chicken, 73.

Fritters, Old English, 201.

Fritters, peach, 74.

Frying, instructions for, 35.

Gravy, 25.

Grisini, or pipe bread, 222.

Hash, corned beef, 122.

Heart, baked, 260.

Heart, lamb’s, baked, 125.

Hollandaise sauce, 186.

Hominy muffins, 190.

Honey, lemon, 172.

Hotch-potch, 103.

Iced cream coffee, 167.

Icing, French, 173, 177.

Irish stew, 233.

Jumbles, 227.

Kidneys, broiled, 117.

Kidneys, stewed, 62.

Lamb, breast of, roasted, 72.

Lamb chops, 33.

Lamb, hashed, 71.

Lamb’s heart, baked, 125.

Lamb ragout, 45.

Lamb, roast shoulder, 21-23.

Lamb, stewed, with peas, 223.

Lamb, to divide the fore-quarter, 20.

Lemon honey, 172.

Lemon-peel, candied, 166.

Lima beans, 48.

Liver and bacon, 98.

Liver, baked, 103.

Lobster, to boil and prepare, 234-236.

Macaroni, cheese, 199.

Macaroni, Italian mode, 22.

Macaroons, 225.

Mackerel, soused, 264.

Méringues, 224.

Mayonnaise, 12.

Mint sauce, 25.

Mock brawn of soup meat, 248.

Muffins, corn, 34.

Muffins, English, 259.

Muffins, hominy, 190.

Mutton, boiled leg of, 198.

Mutton, cold fricassee of, 89.

Mutton hams, 263.

Olives, to stone, 11.

Omelet, cauliflower, 76.

Omelet, plain, 15.

Omelet soufflé, 239.

Onions, boiled, 185.

Oysters, bisque of, 102.

Oysters cooked in the shell, 182.

Oyster patties, 79.

Oysters, roast, 182.

Oysters, with brown butter, 203.

Pastry, 41.

Pastry, Genoese, 226.

Patties, Dresden, 202.

Patties, oyster, 109.

Peach fritters, 74.

Pickling meat, 262.

Pie, chicken, 77, 83.

Pie, custard, 76.

Pie, lemon, 46.

Pie, pigeon, 246.

Pie, veal and ham, 207.

Pigeon pie, 246.

Potato balls, 170.

Potatoes browned under meat, 21.

Potatoes, fried, 162.

Potatoes, scalloped, 185.

Potatoes, stuffed, 51.

Pot-roast, 97.

Pudding, amber, 75.

Pudding, apple, 97.

Pudding, beefsteak, 211.

Pudding, jam roly-poly, 200.

Pudding, King William’s, 174, 182.

Pudding, peach, 73.

Pudding, plain bread, 149.

Pudding, polka, 156.

Pudding, trifle, 211.

Pudding, vanilla soufflé, 193.

Rice cake, French, 242.

Rissoles, 73.

Rolls, 82, 100.

Salad, chicken, 13.

Salting meat, rules for, 261.

Sandwiches, chicken, 239.

Sausages, Worcestershire, 263.

Sauce, caper, 199.

Sauce, English or Wow Wow, 244.

Sauce, Hollandaise, 186.

Sauce, mint, 25.

Sauce, polka, 162.

Simmering, instructions for, 47.

Smelts, fried, 74.

Soufflé, bread, 71.

Soufflé, omelet, 239.

Soufflé, vanilla, 193.

Soup, bean, 173, 182.

Soup, bisque of clams, 75.

Soup, bisque of oysters, 102.

Soup, bouillon, 227.

Soup, clear, 76.

Soup, consommé, 232.

Soup, German, 198.

Soup, mock-turtle, 245.

Soup, ox-tail, 220.

Soup, tomato cream, 72.

Soup, white, 115.

Soup, to clear, 238.

Soup-meat hash, 81.

Stew, Irish, 233.

Stewing, instructions for, 59.

Suet crust, 59, 200.

Sweetbreads, 192.

Thickening, 93, 94, 99, 203.

Trifle, 211.

Turbans of sole, 169.

Turnips, cones of, 74.

Veal and ham pie, 207.

Veal cutlets, breaded, 64.

Veal, knuckle of, 109.

Veal stuffing, 260.

White thickening, 94.

Wow Wow, or English sauce, 244.

* * * * *

Transcriber’s Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Page 52, “revolving” changed to “resolving” (Molly was resolving other)

Page 74, “throughly” changed to “thoroughly” (Butter a bowl thoroughly)

Page 94, “Pnt” changed to “Put” (Put in it a cup)

Page 170, “than” changed to “then” (then to chop some)

Page 217, “if” changed to “is” (if, as is often the case)

Page 217, repeated word “she” removed from text (when she can do my)

Page 262, “throughly” changed to “thoroughly” (has thoroughly

penetrated)