POLLY'S HOUSEKEEPING.
"I'm going now, miss," remarked Mary's voice at the foot of the
front stairs.
"Go on, then," said Polly, with dignity, turning to Molly to add,
"She wouldn't dare do that if mamma were here. Then she never
thinks of calling to us, like this."
Peeping stealthily out at the front window, the girls watched her
as she walked off, dressed in her state and festival suit. Then
they descended to the kitchen to survey their field of operations.
"She's left it in splendid order, and there's a hot fire; that's
one good thing," said Polly, lifting the stove lid to look in.
"With a fire and a cook-book, we can work wonders," said Molly.
"Now, Polly, let's plan."
"All right." And Polly sat down on the wood-box. "What shall we
have for lunch? That comes first."
"I'll tell you," suggested Molly suddenly, as if struck with a
brilliant idea; "let's not have much for lunch. Your father won't
be here, so we can eat up whatever was left over from breakfast,
and have all our time for the dinner."
"But 'tisn't time to get dinner now; it's only eleven o'clock,"
said Polly.
"Yes, it is time," returned Molly. "I want to try a lemon pudding
for dessert, if he likes them, and it takes ever so much time, I
know. We must feed him up well, so he won't look thin to your
mother when, she gets back."
"Let's see how the oven is," said Polly, pulling open the door and
peering in. "It feels nice and warm, so perhaps we'd better go to
work."
"Where are your cook-books?" demanded Molly.
"Here." And Polly brought out a number of books and pamphlets. "We
ought to find a rule in some of these."
Molly possessed herself of the largest.
"'Marion Holland'--no, 'Harland,'" she read. "Oh, I've heard of
her! I'll look in this, and you take another. Let's see, where's
the index? 'Soups--fish--poultry--meats--company.' Oh, where is
it? 'Eggs--cake.' That sounds like it. 'Servants--puddings.' At
last! 'Apple--cottage--cracker--lemon.' Here are two lemon
puddings, Polly." And Molly glanced up to see Polly, with an
anxious frown, reading intently from her own small book. She
looked up, in her turn, to answer,--
"Here's another, so you read yours and then I'll read mine, and
we'll see which we like best."
"'One cup of sugar, four eggs, two tablespoons cornstarch, two
lemons, one pint milk, one tablespoon butter,'" read Molly. "You
get your milk hot and put in the starch and boil five minutes--
Oh, there's a lot more to do! Just see here."
Both heads were bent over the book. Then Polly exclaimed,--
"Mine is easier, I know. Listen: 'A quarter of a pound of suet,
half a pound of bread crumbs, four ounces of sugar, the juice of
two lemons, the grated rind of one, and one egg. Boil it well in
an _Agate_ pot, and serve with sauce.'"
There was an expressive pause.
"Yours is better, after all," said Polly. "I don't know what suet
is, but I don't believe we have any; and besides, it's ever so
much easier to measure cups than pounds."
The girls enveloped themselves in gingham aprons and set to work.
Polly rummaged in store-room and pantry, and brought out the
necessary materials for the pudding, while Molly measured and
mixed.
"Polly," she called suddenly, in a tone of distress. Polly put her
head out from the pantry. Her face was decorated with coal-dust
from the stove and flour from the barrel, but she was too intent
upon her work to care for that.
"Well," she asked, "what's the matter?"
"There isn't enough cornstarch," said Molly, showing the empty
paper.
"How much more do you need?" asked Polly, looking rather blank.
"Another spoonful," replied Molly; "and the milk is all boiling
now, ready for it."
"I wish we had Alan here, to send for some," sighed Polly.
"There isn't time. Don't you suppose your mother has another
package?" asked Molly, stirring the boiling milk in an excited
fashion that sent occasional drops spattering and hissing over the
stove.
"Perhaps she has." And Polly hurried away to the store-room,
jingling her keys with a comical air of consequence.
She came flying back, in a moment, with a small package in her
hand.
"I wonder if this won't do just as well," she said. "It's marked
elastic starch, instead of cornstarch, but it looks ever so much
like the other, and it's all there is, anyway."
Molly eyed it with little favor.
"It isn't just the same," she said thoughtfully; "but if we can't
get anything else, we may as well use it. Here goes, anyway." And
she added a heaping spoonful.
The pudding was mixed, poured into a baking dish and set into the
oven.
"There," said Molly, with an air of relief, "that's done, all but
watching to see that it doesn't burn."
"And clearing up the table," sighed Polly. "It doesn't seem as if
we could have used so many dishes, just for one little pudding;
does it, Molly?"
"Never mind," said Molly consolingly; "when it's done, we shall
feel paid for it all. I don't mind washing dishes. You put the
sugar and stuff away, while I do them. I wish I felt sure about
this other starch," she added, taking up the paper and glancing at
it.
Polly's back was turned, when she heard an exclamation of horror.
Looking around, she saw Molly who, with the package still in
her hand, had dropped into a chair.
"What is it?" she asked anxiously.
"See here!" And Molly pointed solemnly to the label, then burst
into another fit of merriment, as she watched Polly's face grow
blank while she road aloud,--
"'Elastic Starch: Prepared for Laundry Purposes, only.'"
"Whatever do you suppose it will do to us?" asked Molly,
struggling to regain her self-control, and then laughing harder
than ever.
"I'm sure I don't know," answered Polly. "It can't kill us, but it
may stiffen us up some. I wonder if we'd better try to eat it,
Molly." "I'm not going to have all my work wasted," said Molly
decidedly, as she opened the oven door and peeped in. "It's
browning just beautifully, and looks all right. We won't say or
think anything about it, and I don't believe it will hurt us any.
Even if it does, we have a doctor right in the house."
"Unless it kills him, first of all," added Polly gloomily. "But
I'm tired now, Molly; we'll have lunch while that is baking, and
then we can rest till time to get dinner. I never supposed it was
so much work to keep house."
"What are you going to have for dinner?" asked Molly, ignoring the
last remark.
"Beefsteak and potatoes and pudding," said Polly. "That's enough.
We don't want to begin better than we can keep up."
Their lunch was over, and the dishes piled up, to be washed later,
when they should feel more like it; the girls had made themselves
presentable again after their labors, and were sunning themselves
like two young turtles, on the front steps, when they saw Alan
coming towards the house.
"Now, Molly," Polly cautioned her; "remember we aren't going to
tell that we are housekeeping."
"What have you been doing with yourselves?" inquired Alan, as he
sat down on the step below them and pulled his soft hat forward,
to keep the dazzling sun out of his eyes. "I came here just before
noon, but I couldn't start up anybody. Where were you?"
"How strange we didn't hear you!" said Molly innocently. "We were
here all the morning. Are you sure the bell rang?"
"I should say it did," said Alan. "I pulled it till I was tired.
You must have been deaf, or asleep."
"We weren't either; we were only just busy," answered Polly, with,
an air of importance which would have roused Alan's suspicions,
had not Molly come to the rescue by asking about her cousins.
"They're off driving, this afternoon," answered Alan. "They tried
to make me go, but I told them flatly I didn't want to, so they
took Florence instead. I had to play casino with Kit all last
evening, and that was all I could stand. I say, I'm going to stay
to dinner over here, if you ask me to." The girls exchanged
glances of consternation which, happily, passed over the top of
Alan's head, and were unseen.
"Well," assented Polly, with some reluctance; "you can stay, I
suppose, but you won't get much to be thankful for, I warn you."
"As long as you tease so hard," responded Alan, disregarding the
coolness of her tone; "I'll stay, then. I told mother I knew you'd
be in a fight, by this time, and need me to make peace, so she'd
better not expect me till I came. Now, honestly, aren't you glad
to see me?" And he beamed up at the girls with such goodwill that
they relaxed their severity, and took the lad into their
confidence.
"Now, Alan," Molly began solemnly; "if you stay here, you mustn't
ever tell the other girls, but Mary has gone, and Polly and I are
doing the cooking ourselves."
Alan whistled; but not even his whistle was as disrespectful as
was his following remark,--
"Anything left over from yesterday that I can have?"
"You must behave, if you stay, Alan," said Polly firmly. "You can
go home, or else you can go to work with us, when it's time. I've
told you before now that we won't have any lazy people around this
house."
"All right; what shall I do first?" And Alan pulled off his cuffs
and folded back the bottoms of his sleeves. "Hullo! who's this
coming?" he exclaimed, as a figure turned in at the gate.
"Why, it's Mr. Solomon Baxter," said Polly, in some surprise. "How
queer! He never comes here." "Perhaps he's after your father,"
suggested Molly, in an undertone.
"He must be," answered Polly, as she rose to meet him; "but I
should think he would know that papa's at his office, not here."
Mr. Baxter was a widower of fifty, whose wife had recently died,
leaving him with six children under ten years old. Whatever may
have been the motives leading to the match, surely Mrs. Baxter
could never have married her husband either for his personal
beauty or for his repose of manner; for Mr. Baxter's bald head was
covered with a smooth yellow wig, and his figure presented every
appearance of having its joints so tightly wired together that
they could not play freely in their places, while it was a matter
of common report that his nervous, excitable manner had worried
his wife until she was glad to be at rest.
"How do you do? Is your aunt at home?" he answered Polly's
greeting.
This was unexpected, but Polly reflected that they might be on
some committee together.
"I am sorry, but she and mamma were sent for to go to New York,"
she explained courteously. "Their brother is ill. Won't you come
in, sir?"
"Just for a little while, perhaps," said Mr. Baxter, following her
into the parlor. "If they're away, who's keeping house?"
"We are, Molly Hapgood and I," answered Polly, a little surprised
at the question.
"A good girl?"
Polly looked up in astonishment, thinking that he had taken that
way of praising her. On the contrary, she discovered that this was
intended as a question.
"What was it you said," she asked.
"Have you a good girl?"
"We haven't any," replied Polly meekly; "ours went away this
morning."
"Just like them! They're the greatest plague in the world!" said
Mr. Baxter explosively, and so rapidly that his words appeared to
be tumbling over each other, in their haste to escape from his
lips. "They haven't any honor; mine went off yesterday, and I
haven't any to-day. She was a splendid girl with a great trunk
full of real nice clothes, and such refined tastes, she always
drank English breakfast tea. But she wouldn't stay, because I
would not let her have all the soap she wanted. Extravagant
things!" Mr. Baxter suddenly reined in his tongue; then added
abruptly, "Who's housekeeper generally, your mother or your aunt?"
"Mamma is," replied Polly.
"Oh!" Mr. Baxter's tone was rather annoyed. There was a prolonged
pause, while Polly watched the clock and reflected that it was
time to put on the potatoes.
"Are your children well?" inquired Molly politely, feeling that it
was her duty to say something.
"Quite well, only the baby has the croup almost every night. They
have a great many colds, but I tell them that it's good enough for
them, and perhaps it may teach them to be a little more careful,"
answered their fond parent sympathetically.
"I had a cold last winter," remarked Alan, launching himself into
the conversation with this bit of personal reminiscence.
"Oh," said Mr. Baxter again.
There was another pause, a long one this time. Polly broke it, for
she saw that both Molly and Alan were on the point of laughing.
"It is a beautiful day," she began. "We were going to ride this
morning with Job, but--" She paused abruptly. Job had done
conspicuous duty in Mrs. Baxter's funeral procession, in fact, he
had helped to bear the disconsolate widower and his children to
her grave. Polly felt that further mention of him would be ill-
timed. Mr. Baxter appeared to be pursuing his own train of
thought. "Is Miss Roberts well?" he asked, after another interval.
"Very," answered Polly.
"Not given to being sick much?"
"No, she is very strong."
"Well," said Mr. Baxter, rising with an air of relief, "I must be
going. Just tell your aunt, sissy, that I called on her. Where's
my hat?"
He had mislaid it somewhere, and while he charged up and down the
parlor looking for it, Alan and Molly prudently withdrew, to laugh
unseen. At length he discovered it in the hall, and went away,
leaving the children to speculate vainly on the cause of his
visit.
"Sissy!" exclaimed Polly violently. "Sissy! I wonder how he'd like
me to call him bubby! I'll try it, the next time he comes. But he
stayed so forever that we shan't have time to cook any potatoes
for dinner."
They surely would not, for the fire was out and the stove was
cold.
"Your poor father!" groaned Molly. "And we weren't going to let
him know that anything was wrong."
"Never mind," said Polly; "we'll give him just meat and pudding.
That's enough for any man."
They cheered up at that, and, with Alan's help, they went to work
to build a fire, making many discoveries during the operation
about dampers and grates and their uses. But time, always
unaccommodating, refused to wait for them, and six o'clock came
far too soon, and brought the doctor in its train.
Dr. Adams was rather perplexed when he went into the house and was
met by no one at the door. Polly and her mother usually greeted
him, but to-night the front of the house was deserted.
"The girls must be off somewhere," he said to himself. "Well, I'll
go out and tell Mary to give me my dinner now, without waiting for
them."
He made his way to the kitchen, noting to his surprise, as he
passed through the dining-room, that the table was only half set
for the meal, and that the few articles on it had a little the
appearance of having been thrown at it from a distance. Dr. Adams
was an orderly, methodical man, and his wife's careful
housekeeping was quite to his liking. However, he reflected that,
during her absence, there must and would be irregularities, and
passed on to the kitchen. As he opened the door, he was met by a
cloud of dense, bluish white smoke which brought the quick tears
to his eyes. Through the thick air he could see, not the ample
proportions of his usual cook, but three small figures that were
hurrying to and fro with a purposeless, ineffectual bustle which
yet accomplished nothing. One of the figures hailed him in
disconsolate tones,--
"Oh, papa! are you home so soon?"
"So soon?" he answered, as well as he could for coughing; "it's
six o'clock now. Is dinner ready? What are you doing out here?"
It took but a moment to explain the matter, and then the doctor
showed that it was not without reason that Polly called him the
best father in the world. He was just back from a long drive out
into the country with a fellow doctor, to pass judgment upon a
critical case; he must visit a man in the hospital before his
evening office hour; he was tired, hungry, and in a hurry, and
there was no immediate prospect of dinner. But the three weary,
heated, crocky faces before him moved him to pity, and he threw
open the outer door, saying briskly,--
"Let's have a little air here, and see what's the matter."
"The fire won't seem to burn," said Alan. "It just smokes and goes
out."
"So I see," said the doctor laughing. "Perhaps it would go better,
my boy, if the dampers were not shut up tight. All it needs is a
little draught,--see?" And in a moment there was a comfortable
crackling sound going on inside the stove.
Before his marriage, the doctor had been in the habit of camping
out every summer, and his old experiences came to his aid in the
present crisis. While the girls flew in to set the table, he
quickly brought the fire into order, and cooked the meat as
handily as a woman. Thanks to him, the supper proved a merry one
in spite of the smoky dining-room, the meagre bill of fare, and
the great white blister on the side of Alan's hand, which the lad
was doing his best to keep out of the doctor's sight. Molly raised
her eyebrows and darted a comical glance at Polly when the doctor
asked for a second plate of the pudding, and it was not until long
afterwards that the girls knew of the manful effort he had made to
swallow the sticky compound.
"Can I do anything more to help you?" he asked, stopping behind
Alan's chair as he was going away.
"You've done enough already, I should think," answered Molly
gratefully.
"It was too bad for Mary to leave you in the lurch," he replied.
Then, as his eyes fell on Alan's hand, he added, "That's a hard
burn, my boy! Why in the world didn't you say something about it?"
"What was the use?" inquired Alan calmly. "Grumbling about it
wouldn't do it any good."
"No; but I could," responded the doctor. "I like your pluck, but
there's no use making a martyr of yourself for nothing. Come into
my den and let me put something on it." And after a moment's
delay, he went striding away down the street, looking at his watch
as he walked.
"How do people ever manage to keep house?" sighed Molly, an hour
later.
The dishes were washed, the rooms in order, and the two girls were
luxuriously settled on the sofa, which they had drawn up in front
of Alan's blazing fire on the hearth. Alan himself was stretched
out on the rug, with his yellow head resting against the seat of
the sofa, beside Polly's hand. Too tired to talk, the children had
sat there quietly watching the fire until Molly broke the silence.
"I don't see, I'm sure," returned Polly. "It never seems as if
mamma did much, even when we haven't any girl; and I'm tired
almost to death, with what little we've done."
"I'm slowly getting to think," said Molly reflectively; "that our
mothers are wonderful women. If it takes three of us to spoil one
dinner, how do they get along, to do all the housekeeping and look
out for us and sew and all?"
"Perhaps they know more to start with," suggested Alan, ducking
his head out of reach of Polly's threatening fingers.
"If you hadn't been and gone and burned yourself in our service,
Alan," she said, laughing, "I would turn you out of the house."
But Molly was too much in earnest to heed this by-play.
"I believe I'll learn to cook," she went on. "I don't mean fancy
cooking, but good, plain things that one could live on."
"Why not go to cooking school?" asked Polly.
"Yes," rejoined Molly scornfully; "and learn to make chicken salad
and angel cake and chocolate creams. That's all very well, but I
want to know how to do something that will help along, when we get
in a tight place. Hark! what's that?" she added, as a sudden
flurry of rain swept against the windows.
"That's cheerful!" said Alan, starting up. "I don't care about
getting a ducking. I wish I'd gone home before this."
"No matter," urged Polly. "Stay till papa comes; he'll be in at
nine, and then we'll give you an umbrella and things."
"Well." And Alan threw more wood on the fire and then settled back
into his former position; "I may as well, for I don't believe it
will rain any harder than it does now, and maybe it will stop. I
say, Polly," he went on; "tell us a story, there's a good fellow."
"I'm too tired to-night, Alan," Polly began; "I haven't an idea in
my head and--Is that you, papa?" she called, as the front door
opened and shut.
"No, it's mamma," and Mrs. Adams walked into the parlor.
"Jerusalem!" and Polly sprang up with a glad cry. "Wherever did
you come from?"
She was surrounded and dragged forward to the sofa, where Alan
took her cloak, Molly her bonnet, and Polly pulled off her gloves.
"This is delightful to be so waited on," said Mrs. Adams. "It is
worth while going away, to have the pleasure of coming back to my
three children. Now come and sit down, and tell me all about it."
And with a girl at each side and a boy at her feet, she prepared
to hear the story of their doings.
"First, how is Uncle Charlie?" asked Polly, sure from her mother's
bright face that there was no bad news.
"It was a sudden attack of indigestion, and he was much better
before we reached him; but for a little while they thought there
was no chance for him. Aunt Jane is going to stay for a week or
two, but I was in a hurry to come back to my baby. And that
reminds me, I stopped at your house, Alan, to tell your mother I
had come and that Molly would stay here till Monday; and when I
found that you were here, I said I should keep you, too, till
morning. But now you must tell me how you've been amusing
yourselves."
"With cooking," said Polly, with a tragic groan. "Mary's gone off
for a week, and the fire went out, and Alan burned himself, and we
nearly starved. I'm glad you've come back; oh, you can't guess how
glad!"
By degrees they told the tale of their woes, not omitting the
slightest detail, while Mrs. Adams leaned back on the sofa and
laughed till the tears came.
"But there's one good thing about it all," observed Molly, in
conclusion. "We've had a perfectly dreadful time, but it will
teach us to appreciate our mothers and know a little what they are
doing, the whole time."