THE WATER-PARTY.
“How did you enjoy yourself last evening, Marion?” asked Ada, on the
morning after Marion had paid her promised visit to Mrs. Holden.
“Very much indeed.”
“Was it a regular dinner-party?”
“Oh, no, only just ourselves, you know—and Mr. Scott!”
Jane looked very wise.
“Madge made a delightful suggestion,” went on Marion quickly. “How
should you like a water-party, Jenny?”
“The most delightful thing for this fine weather, but who would row?”
“Mr. Holden and Mr. Scott are both thoroughly accustomed to it.”
“Jenny and I can take turns,” said Ada; “we have always been accustomed
to it, but you never went in for it, did you?”
“No, I can only steer,” said Marion, laughing. “I told Madge that we
would bring half the lunch and half the crockery. We can get tea at a
cottage that they know of.”
“But you have not told us yet where we are going,” said Jane.
“Oh, I forgot. Madge and her party will meet us at West End Lane
Station, and we will take the 9.20 train to Richmond; catch the one
that goes on to Twickenham, row to Teddington, land on the bank and
have lunch, and have tea at the cottage I spoke of.”
“Just the very thing to brush the cobwebs out of our brains,” cried Ada
enthusiastically, “is it not, Jenny? We all want a treat, and we are
all rather fagged out. Is it to be this next Saturday?”
“Yes, if we can arrange it in time.”
“Well, there is very little to arrange, when one comes to think of it,”
said Ada meditatively, “unless Mrs. Holden thinks of inviting a big
party.”
“No, just themselves and ourselves.”
“Did she say what part of the lunch she would prefer to bring?”
“She suggested the meat and also the drinks.”
“Ah!” laughed Jane, “she thinks it wise to ensure something solid for
her husband and brother! And we are to bring the sweets, and so on?
Then do have a tomato salad; it is the most delightfully cooling thing
you can have on a hot day.”
“My good girl, how in the world can we pack it? I suppose you mean to
take the tomatoes and make it as it is wanted; but that is rather a
nuisance. My experience of water-parties is that you never land for
lunch until you are so famished that to make a salad is the last thing
anyone wishes, and any materials of that sort are thankfully despatched
in the raw!”
“But we can,” urged Jane. “How can an old person like you be supposed
to understand the latest contrivances of the age? We can slice the
tomatoes and put them in layers in a jam pot with the oil, vinegar,
chopped parsley and onion, and tie the whole down. It will stand up
quite well in a corner of the hamper, and will not upset.”
“Bravo, Jenny, we will certainly have one. _Is that your own idea?_”
“It is my own idea, and I intend to patent it,” said Jane, with
dignity, “so please see that you do not infringe my rights. Now one of
you can suggest a suitable sweet.”
“It is rather difficult,” said Marion. “Shapes pack so badly, and
pastry is apt to crumble. Jelly has an unfortunate habit of turning
into soup just when it is wanted.”
“Perhaps it will be better to stick to fresh fruit,” said Ada.
“We must have something else,” said Marion meditatively. “How would it
be if we took the materials for a Cicely pudding? It only takes a few
minutes to make.”
This suggestion met with warm approval from the two others, for the
Cicely pudding was an old favourite, the brilliant invention of a
mutual friend in the country; but for the recipe thereof the gentle
reader must be content to wait awhile.
“Very well,” said Jenny, “Marion shall make the Cicely pudding, and I
will make the tomato salad. What will Ada do?”
“Make the sandwiches,” said Ada promptly. “There must be sandwiches,
some of anchovy and hard-boiled egg, and some of cucumber.”
“Shall I order a sandwich loaf?” asked Marion.
“No, I think not. I prefer ‘Florentines,’ they are handier in every
way.”
“Florentines” are little long-shaped milk rolls, something the shape of
sponge fingers, but rather larger, and as they only require to be split
and spread, much time is saved, and so it was settled.
On Friday evening, whilst Ada was making the sandwiches, Marion made up
and looked over the weekly accounts up to that evening. She knew there
would be no time on Saturday, as they would be late back. A box of
fresh eggs had been sent from her country home on the Monday previous,
and this had served famously for the week’s breakfasts.
This is the dinner list:—
_Sunday._
Fried Mutton Cutlets.
Potatoes.
Green Peas.
Gooseberry Shape.
_Monday._
Leek Soup.
Veal Cutlets (cooked in the oven).
Potatoes.
Macaroni Cheese.
_Tuesday._
Veal and Ham Patties.
Poached Eggs on Endive.
_Wednesday._
Boiled Neck of Mutton and Vegetables.
Steamed Ground Rice Pudding and Jam.
_Thursday._
Potato Soup.
Fried Cauliflower in Batter.
Bread and Fruit Pudding (cold).
_Friday._
Cauliflower Soup.
Grilled Mackerel.
Stewed Gooseberries.
The food account was as follows:—
£ s. d.
1½ lb. neck of mutton (cutlets) 0 1 0
1 lb. veal cutlet 0 0 10
1½ qrts. gooseberries 0 0 9
1 lb. cheese 0 0 7
½ lb. macaroni 0 0 2
Leeks 0 0 2
Flavouring vegetables 0 0 3
Endive 0 0 2
Potatoes 0 0 8
1½ lb. neck of mutton (for boiling) 0 0 10½
2 cauliflowers 0 0 5
2 mackerel 0 0 10
8 loaves 0 2 4
Milk 0 1 9
½ lb. tea 0 0 10
1½ lb. Demerara 0 0 3
½ lb. loaf 0 0 1
Sponge cakes 0 0 6
Jug of thick cream 0 1 0
Small jar of greengage jam 0 0 6
2 punnets of strawberries 0 1 4
Tin of anchovy paste 0 0 3½
Florentines 0 3 0
1 lb. tomatoes 0 0 8
-----------
£0 19 3
“Where are the strawberries?” asked Jane as she looked over Marion’s
shoulder. “I have not seen them.”
“We are to call for them at the greengrocer’s the first thing, and
have them directly they come from market. I was afraid to have them in
overnight for fear of their getting too juicy.”
Early next morning the sunshine streamed into Marion’s room and awoke
her with the promise of a happy day. She rose and dressed quickly and
was down the first, looking delightfully cool and fresh in a white coat
and skirt. She busied herself with packing the hamper, and as she set
to work down came Jane, resplendent in blue. She got out the tomatoes,
sliced them quickly and arranged them in layers in a large jam pot,
sprinkling oil, vinegar, chopped parsley and onion in between. Then she
tied a new jam cover over, and put her _chef d’œuvre_ carefully in the
hamper.
“You two busy bees make me feel so disgracefully lazy,” cried Ada as
she ran in a few minutes later. “I quite intended to be the first
to-day. I will get you some breakfast to make amends,” so saying she
quickly laid the table in the sitting-room, and made the tea. As soon
as the hamper was packed, they sat down to a hasty meal. As they were
finishing there was a ring at the bell.
“I declare I had forgotten all about the post!” cried Jane. “A letter
without a stamp, I suppose. I hear Abigail speaking to him.”
But it was not the post, for the door opened, and Mr. Tom Scott was
shown in.
“I hope you will excuse me, Miss Thomas,” he said to Marion as he shook
hands and was introduced to the other two. “I was so afraid that you
might find the hamper with the crockery too heavy to carry, and my
sister said she thought I might venture to call and see if I could be
of any assistance.”
“We are just coming,” said Marion, smiling. “Thank you; I don’t think
we should have found the hamper too heavy.”
Ada and Jane disappeared to make the final preparations; Marion picked
up her hat from off the little side-table and pinned it on, listening
to Mr. Scott as he discussed the day’s proceedings. Soon Jane came back
bearing the hamper in triumph, of which Mr. Scott immediately took
possession, and so the party set out.
On the way they called for the strawberries as arranged. They got to
the station just in time to meet Mrs. Holden and her husband, who had
just arrived, having taken the next train after Tom Scott. They had
only a few minutes to wait for the Richmond train. Marion was just
going to get the tickets for her party, but she was prevented by her
friend Madge, who explained that the railway-tickets represented her
husband’s share of the entertainment and the boat her brother’s, so
it was no good protesting. So, as Jane afterwards described it (with
a sigh of content at the recollection), “they went to Twickenham like
dukes and duchesses in first-class carriages,” adding sagely, “Being a
working woman has one great advantage, for one certainly knows how to
appreciate the good things of existence when they fall to one’s share.”
The day was glorious; a deep blue sky scarcely flecked with clouds,
brilliant sunshine, not a breath of wind. The train was very full, and
there were many other merry parties besides their own. Everyone seemed
taking a holiday. At Richmond they had to run quickly over the bridge
for the Twickenham train, which they just managed to catch; as they
caught a glimpse of the river and saw how crowded and covered with
boats it was just there, they all felt glad that they had arranged
to start a little higher up, where they would have more space. At
Twickenham they got out and walked through the hot streets of the
quaint old town to the water’s edge, where under the trees the boat was
ready for them.
So they all got in—Mr. Holden and Tom Scott rowing, Jane and Ada
comfortably reclining in the bow, Mrs. Holden and Marion in the stern.
The boat glided gently along. Marion had never seen this part of the
river before, as she had had little leisure for pleasure parties since
she came to live in town, and she was delighted with the beauty of the
scene. Tom Scott showed her Pope’s Villa and other places of interest.
In spite of the heat, Jane seemed blessed with a superabundance of
energy, and after a time she took Mr. Holden’s oar and rowed so well
that he declared himself surpassed. Now they neared the towers of
Hampton Court, and finding a suitable little island shaded by willows,
they moored to a tree and prepared for lunch, for which they all had
excellent appetites.
“We have to make our pudding, you know,” said Marion, laughing.
“Going to do cooking out of doors?” asked Mr. Scott. “Shall I make a
field oven?”
“No, we don’t need to do any cooking, and it will all be ready in five
minutes,” she answered, and set to work.
She brought out the sponge cakes, split them in half, and put half
of them at the bottom of a large pie-dish that she had brought with
her; this she spread with a thick layer of greengage jam, then she put
another layer of sponge cake. “Now, Jenny, the strawberries,” she said;
but Jenny had already got them out and was busy picking off the stalks.
When this was done, she arranged them on the cake in a thick layer,
sprinkled them thickly with castor sugar, and lastly spread thick
cream, which she had brought in its own brown jar, over the whole. As a
last touch, a few “hundreds and thousands” were quickly sprinkled over
the top, and the dish was finished, amidst the admiring plaudits of
Madge and her party.
Jane’s tomato salad went excellently with the cold lamb which Mrs.
Holden had provided, and the whole repast went off well. Ada’s
sandwiches kept perfectly fresh, as they were wrapped in a damp cloth
before being packed, and they were much liked.
After lunch the indefatigable Jane washed up, Mrs. Holden and Ada
helping her, and repacked the hamper. They then rowed across the river
to the Palace. Marion suggested looking at the pictures, and Tom Scott
offered to conduct her, with an alacrity that was quite surprising,
considering that he had been expressing his absolute ignorance of the
subject about five minutes before.
“Will you come, too, Madge?”
No; Madge preferred to be lazy and sit out of doors, admiring the
orange trees—Mr. Holden also, and Ada. Jane thought she would like to
go, and so the three started off. The cool shade of the great rooms was
a delightful change after the glare of the gardens, and they sauntered
through, admiring the pictures and carving and the beautiful views seen
through the open windows. Jane was very much amused with an old Dutch
picture representing a street scene with no sky; the perspective was so
odd that she declared the people were walking on the wall like flies.
She ran back to the other two to tell them to come and look at it, but
they seemed so deeply engaged in conversation that she did not disturb
them.
“You can’t think how delightful it all is after the lonely life I have
been leading for three years,” she heard.
When they went out again to the others, the afternoon was growing
cooler. They all went back to the boat, for they were now to row a
little way in the direction of Twickenham and to land at a cottage,
where tea was ordered beforehand.
Jane rowed again, and by the time the cottage was reached was quite
willing to let the old woman in charge make the tea as she was getting
just a little tired. She did justice, however, as they all did, to the
good things provided—the honey, which the old woman’s bees had made,
the strawberries from the cottage garden, the home-made bread and
delicious country butter.
In the cool of the evening our merry party started to row back to
Twickenham, Marion steering under Mr. Scott’s direction, who was rowing
just in front of her. They just caught the train at Twickenham, and so
ended a very happy day.
(_To be continued._)
SHEILA’S COUSIN EFFIE.
A STORY FOR GIRLS.
BY EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN, Author of “Greyfriars,” “Half-a-dozen
Sisters,” etc.