PATTY PANS
“What’s the matter, Daisy?”
“The boys won’t let me play with them.”
“Why not?”
“They say girls can’t play football.”
“They can, for I’ve done it!” and Mrs. Bhaer laughed at the remembrance
of certain youthful frolics.
“I know I can play; Demi and I used to, and have nice times, but he
won’t let me now because the other boys laugh at him,” and Daisy looked
deeply grieved at her brother’s hardness of heart.
“On the whole, I think he is right, deary. It’s all very well when you
two are alone, but it is too rough a game for you with a dozen boys; so
I’d find some nice little play for myself.”
“I’m tired of playing alone!” and Daisy’s tone was very mournful.
“I’ll play with you by and by, but just now I must fly about and get
things ready for a trip into town. You shall go with me and see mamma,
and if you like you can stay with her.”
“I should like to go and see her and Baby Josy, but I’d rather come
back, please. Demi would miss me, and I love to be here, Aunty.”
“You can’t get on without your Demi, can you?” and Aunt Jo looked as if
she quite understood the love of the little girl for her only brother.
“’Course I can’t; we’re twins, and so we love each other more than
other people,” answered Daisy, with a brightening face, for she
considered being a twin one of the highest honors she could ever
receive.
“Now, what will you do with your little self while I fly round?” asked
Mrs. Bhaer, who was whisking piles of linen into a wardrobe with great
rapidity.
“I don’t know, I’m tired of dolls and things; I wish you’d make up a
new play for me, Aunty Jo,” said Daisy, swinging listlessly on the door.
“I shall have to think of a brand new one, and it will take me some
time; so suppose you go down and see what Asia has got for your lunch,”
suggested Mrs. Bhaer, thinking that would be a good way in which to
dispose of the little hindrance for a time.
“Yes, I think I’d like that, if she isn’t cross,” and Daisy slowly
departed to the kitchen, where Asia, the black cook, reigned
undisturbed.
In five minutes Daisy was back again, with a wide-awake face, a bit of
dough in her hand and a dab of flour on her little nose.
“O Aunty! please could I go and make gingersnaps and things? Asia isn’t
cross, and she says I may, and it would be such fun, please do,” cried
Daisy, all in one breath.
“Just the thing, go and welcome, make what you like, and stay as long
as you please,” answered Mrs. Bhaer, much relieved, for sometimes the
one little girl was harder to amuse than the dozen boys.
Daisy ran off, and while she worked, Aunt Jo racked her brain for a new
play. All of a sudden she seemed to have an idea, for she smiled to
herself, slammed the doors of the wardrobe, and walked briskly away,
saying, “I’ll do it, if it’s a possible thing!”
What it was no one found out that day, but Aunt Jo’s eyes twinkled so
when she told Daisy she had thought of a new play, and was going to buy
it, that Daisy was much excited and asked questions all the way into
town, without getting answers that told her anything. She was left at
home to play with the new baby and delight her mother’s eyes, while
Aunt Jo went off shopping. When she came back with all sorts of queer
parcels in corners of the carry-all, Daisy was so full of curiosity
that she wanted to go back to Plumfield at once. But her aunt would not
be hurried, and made a long call in mamma’s room, sitting on the floor
with baby in her lap, making Mrs. Brooke laugh at the pranks of the
boys, and all sorts of droll nonsense.
How her aunt told the secret Daisy could not imagine, but her mother
evidently knew it, for she said, as she tied on the little bonnet and
kissed the rosy little face inside, “Be a good child, my Daisy, and
learn the nice new play Aunty has got for you. It’s a most useful
and interesting one, and it is very kind of her to play it with you,
because she does not like it very well herself.”
This last speech made the two ladies laugh heartily, and increased
Daisy’s bewilderment. As they drove away something rattled in the back
of the carriage.
“What’s that?” asked Daisy, pricking up her ears.
“The new play,” answered Mrs. Jo, solemnly.
“What is it made of?” cried Daisy.
“Iron, tin, wood, brass, sugar, salt, coal, and a hundred other things.”
“How strange! what color is it?”
“All sorts of colors.”
“Is it large?”
“Part of it is, and a part isn’t.”
“Did I ever see one?”
“Ever so many, but never one so nice as this.”
“Oh! what can it be? I can’t wait. When _shall_ I see it?” and Daisy
bounced up and down with impatience.
“To-morrow morning, after lessons.”
“Is it for the boys too?”
“No, all for you and Bess. The boys will like to see it, and want to
play one part of it. But you can do as you like about letting them.”
“I’ll let Demi, if he wants to.”
“No fear that they won’t all want to, especially Stuffy,” and Mrs.
Bhaer’s eyes twinkled more than ever, as she patted a queer knobby
bundle in her lap.
“Let me feel just once,” prayed Daisy.
“Not a feel; you’d guess in a minute and spoil the fun.”
Daisy groaned and then smiled all over her face, for through a little
hole in the paper she caught a glimpse of something bright.
“How _can_ I wait so long? Couldn’t I see it to-day?”
“Oh dear, no! it has got to be arranged, and ever so many parts fixed
in their places. I promised Uncle Teddy that you shouldn’t see it till
it was all in apple-pie order.”
“If Uncle knows about it then it _must_ be splendid!” cried Daisy,
clapping her hands; for this kind, rich, jolly uncle of hers was as
good as a fairy godmother to the children, and was always planning
merry surprises, pretty gifts, and droll amusements for them.
“Yes; Teddy went and bought it with me, and we had such fun in the shop
choosing the different parts. He would have everything fine and large,
and my little plan got regularly splendid when he took hold. You must
give him your very best kiss when he comes, for he is the kindest uncle
that ever went and bought a charming little coo---- Bless me! I nearly
told you what it was!” and Mrs. Bhaer cut that most interesting word
short off in the middle, and began to look over her bills, as if afraid
she would let the cat out of the bag if she talked any more. Daisy
folded her hands with an air of resignation, and sat quite still trying
to think what play had a “coo” in it.
When they got home she eyed every bundle that was taken out, and one
large heavy one, which Franz took straight up-stairs and hid in the
nursery, filled her with amazement and curiosity. Something very
mysterious went on up there that afternoon, for Franz was hammering,
and Asia trotting up and down, and Aunt Jo flying around like a
will-o’-the-wisp, with all sorts of things under her apron, while
little Ted, who was the only child admitted, because he couldn’t talk
plain, babbled and laughed, and tried to tell what the “sumpin pitty”
was.
All this made Daisy half wild, and her excitement spread among the
boys, who quite overwhelmed Mother Bhaer with offers of assistance,
which she declined by quoting their own words to Daisy,--
“Girls can’t play with boys. This is for Daisy, and Bess, and me, so
we don’t want you.” Whereupon the young gentlemen meekly retired,
and invited Daisy to a game of marbles, horse, football, anything
she liked, with a sudden warmth and politeness which astonished her
innocent little soul.
Thanks to these attentions, she got through the afternoon, went early
to bed, and next morning did her lessons with an energy which made
Uncle Fritz wish that a new game could be invented every day. Quite a
thrill pervaded the school-room when Daisy was dismissed at eleven
o’clock, for every one knew that _now_ she was going to have the new
and mysterious play.
Many eyes followed her as she ran away, and Demi’s mind was so
distracted by this event that when Franz asked him where the desert
of Sahara was, he mournfully replied, “In the nursery,” and the whole
school laughed at him.
“Aunt Jo, I’ve done all my lessons, and I can’t wait one single minute
more!” cried Daisy, flying into Mrs. Bhaer’s room.
“It’s all ready, come on;” and tucking Ted under one arm, and her
work-basket under the other, Aunt Jo promptly led the way up-stairs.
“I don’t see any thing,” said Daisy, staring about her as she got
inside the nursery door.
“Do you hear any thing?” asked Aunt Jo, catching Ted back by his little
frock as he was making straight for one side of the room.
Daisy did hear an odd crackling, and then a purry little sound as of a
kettle singing. These noises came from behind a curtain drawn before a
deep bay window. Daisy snatched it back, gave one joyful “Oh!” and then
stood gazing with delight at--what do you think?
A wide seat ran round the three sides of the window; on one side hung
and stood all sorts of little pots and pans, gridirons and skillets;
on the other side a small dinner and tea set; and on the middle part
a cooking-stove. Not a tin one, that was of no use, but a real iron
stove, big enough to cook for a large family of very hungry dolls. But
the best of it was that a real fire burned in it, real steam came out
of the nose of the little tea-kettle, and the lid of the little boiler
actually danced a jig, the water inside bubbled so hard. A pane of
glass had been taken out and replaced by a sheet of tin, with a hole
for the small funnel, and real smoke went sailing away outside so
naturally, that it did one’s heart good to see it. The box of wood with
a hod of charcoal stood near by; just above hung dustpan, brush, and
broom; a little market basket was on the low table at which Daisy used
to play, and over the back of her little chair hung a white apron with
a bib, and a droll mob cap. The sun shone in as if he enjoyed the fun,
the little stove roared beautifully, the kettle steamed, the new tins
sparkled on the walls, the pretty china stood in tempting rows, and
it was altogether as cheery and complete a kitchen as any child could
desire.
Daisy stood quite still after the first glad “Oh!” but her eyes went
quickly from one charming object to another, brightening as they
looked, till they came to Aunt Jo’s merry face; there they stopped as
the happy little girl hugged her, saying gratefully,--
“O Aunty, it’s a splendid new play! can I really cook at the dear
stove, and have parties and mess, and sweep, and make fires that truly
burn? I like it _so_ much! What made you think of it?”
“Your liking to make gingersnaps with Asia made me think of it,” said
Mrs. Bhaer, holding Daisy, who frisked as if she would fly. “I knew
Asia wouldn’t let you mess in her kitchen very often, and it wouldn’t
be safe at this fire up here, so I thought I’d see if I could find a
little stove for you, and teach you to cook; that would be fun, and
useful too. So I travelled round among the toy shops, but every thing
large cost too much and I was thinking I should have to give it up,
when I met Uncle Teddy. As soon as he knew what I was about, he said he
wanted to help, and insisted on buying the biggest toy stove we could
find. I scolded, but he only laughed, and teased me about my cooking
when we were young, and said I must teach Bess as well as you, and went
on buying all sorts of nice little things for my ‘cooking class’ as he
called it.”
“I’m so glad you met him!” said Daisy, as Mrs. Jo stopped to laugh at
the memory of the funny time she had with Uncle Teddy.
“You must study hard and learn to make all kinds of things, for he says
he shall come out to tea very often, and expects something uncommonly
nice.”
“It’s the sweetest, dearest kitchen in the world, and I’d rather study
with it than do anything else. Can’t I learn pies, and cake, and
macaroni, and every thing?” cried Daisy, dancing round the room with a
new saucepan in one hand and the tiny poker in the other.
“All in good time. This is to be a useful play, I am to help you, and
you are to be my cook, so I shall tell you what to do, and show you
how. Then we shall have things fit to eat, and you will be really
learning how to cook on a small scale. I’ll call you Sally, and say you
are a new girl just come,” added Mrs. Jo, settling down to work, while
Teddy sat on the floor sucking his thumb, and staring at the stove as
if it was a live thing, whose appearance deeply interested him.
“That will be _so_ lovely! What shall I do first?” asked Sally, with
such a happy face and willing air that Aunt Jo wished all new cooks
were half as pretty and pleasant.
“First of all, put on this clean cap and apron. I am rather
old-fashioned, and I like my cook to be very tidy.”
Sally tucked her curly hair into the round cap, and put on the apron
without a murmur, though usually she rebelled against bibs.
“Now, you can put things in order, and wash up the new china. The old
set needs washing also, for my last girl was apt to leave it in a sad
state after a party.”
Aunt Jo spoke quite soberly, but Sally laughed, for she knew who the
untidy girl was who had left the cups sticky. Then she turned up her
cuffs, and with a sigh of satisfaction began to stir about her kitchen,
having little raptures now and then over the “sweet rolling pin,” the
“darling dish-tub,” or the “cunning pepper-pot.”
“Now, Sally, take your basket and go to market; here is the list of
things I want for dinner,” said Mrs. Jo, giving her a bit of paper when
the dishes were all in order.
“Where is the market?” asked Daisy, thinking that the new play got more
and more interesting every minute.
“Asia is the market.”
Away went Sally, causing another stir in the school-room as she passed
the door in her new costume, and whispered to Demi, with a face full of
delight,--“It’s a perfectly splendid play!”
Old Asia enjoyed the joke as much as Daisy, and laughed jollily as the
little girl came flying into the room with her cap all on one side,
the lids of her basket rattling like castanets and looking like a very
crazy little cook.
“Mrs. Aunt Jo wants these things, and I must have them right away,”
said Daisy, importantly.
“Let’s see, honey; here’s two pounds of steak, potatoes, squash,
apples, bread, and butter. The meat ain’t come yet; when it does I’ll
send it up. The other things are all handy.”
Then Asia packed one potato, one apple, a bit of squash, a little pat
of butter, and a roll, into the basket, telling Sally to be on the
watch for the butcher’s boy, because he sometimes played tricks.
“Who is he?” and Daisy hoped it would be Demi.
“You’ll see,” was all Asia would say; and Sally went off in great
spirits, singing a verse from dear Mary Howitt’s sweet story in rhyme,--
“Away went little Mabel,
With the wheaten cake so fine,
The new-made pot of butter,
And the little flask of wine.”
“Put every thing but the apple into the store-closet for the present,”
said Mrs. Jo, when the cook got home.
There was a cupboard under the middle shelf, and on opening the door
fresh delights appeared. One half was evidently the cellar, for wood,
coal, and kindlings were piled there. The other half was full of little
jars, boxes, and all sorts of droll contrivances for holding small
quantities of flour, meal, sugar, salt, and other household stores. A
pot of jam was there, a little tin box of gingerbread, a cologne bottle
full of currant wine, and a tiny canister of tea. But the crowning
charm was two doll’s pans of new milk, with cream actually rising on
it, and a wee skimmer all ready to skim it with. Daisy clasped her
hands at this delicious spectacle, and wanted to skim immediately. But
Aunt Jo said,--
“Not yet; you will want the cream to eat on your apple-pie at dinner,
and must not disturb it till then.”
“Am I going to have pie?” cried Daisy, hardly believing that such bliss
could be in store for her.
“Yes; if your oven does well we will have two pies,--one apple and one
strawberry,” said Mrs. Jo, who was nearly as much interested in the
new play as Daisy herself.
“Oh, what next?” asked Sally, all impatience to begin.
“Shut the lower draught of the stove, so that the oven may heat.
Then wash your hands and get out the flour, sugar, salt, butter, and
cinnamon. See if the pie-board is clean, and pare your apple ready to
put in.”
Daisy got things together with as little noise and spilling as could be
expected, from so young a cook.
“I really don’t know how to measure for such tiny pies; I must guess
at it, and if these don’t succeed, we must try again,” said Mrs. Jo,
looking rather perplexed, and very much amused with the small concern
before her. “Take that little pan full of flour, put in a pinch of
salt, and then rub in as much butter as will go on that plate. Always
remember to put your dry things together first, and then the wet. It
mixes better so.”
“I know how; I saw Asia do it. Don’t I butter the pie plates too? She
did, the first thing,” said Daisy, whisking the flour about at a great
rate.
“Quite right! I do believe you have a gift for cooking, you take to it
so cleverly,” said Aunt Jo, approvingly. “Now a dash of cold water,
just enough to wet it; then scatter some flour on the board, work in a
little, and roll the paste out; yes, that’s the way. Now put dabs of
butter all over it, and roll it out again. We won’t have our pastry
very rich, or the dolls will get dyspeptic.”
Daisy laughed at the idea, and scattered the dabs with a liberal hand.
Then she rolled and rolled with her delightful little pin, and having
got her paste ready, proceeded to cover the plates with it. Next the
apple was sliced in, sugar and cinnamon lavishly sprinkled over it, and
then the top crust put on with breathless care.
“I always wanted to cut them round, and Asia never would let me. How
nice it is to do it all my ownty donty self!” said Daisy, as the little
knife went clipping round the doll’s plate poised on her hand.
All cooks, even the best, meet with mishaps sometimes, and Sally’s
first one occurred then, for the knife went so fast that the plate
slipped, turned a somersault in the air, and landed the dear little
pie upside down on the floor. Sally screamed, Mrs. Jo laughed, Teddy
scrambled to get it, and for a moment confusion reigned in the new
kitchen.
“It didn’t spill or break, because I pinched the edges together so
hard; it isn’t hurt a bit, so I’ll prick holes in it, and then it will
be ready,” said Sally, picking up the capsized treasure and putting it
into shape with a childlike disregard of the dust it had gathered in
its fall.
“My new cook has a good temper, I see, and that is such a comfort,”
said Mrs. Jo. “Now open the jar of strawberry jam, fill the uncovered
pie, and put some strips of paste over the top as Asia does.”
“I’ll make a D in the middle, and have zigzags all round; that will be
so interesting when I come to eat it,” said Sally, loading her pie with
quirls and flourishes that would have driven a real pastry cook wild.
“_Now_ I put them in!” she exclaimed, when the last grimy knob had been
carefully planted in the red field of jam, and with an air of triumph
she shut them into the little oven.
“Clear up your things; a good cook never lets her utensils collect.
Then pare your squash and potatoes.”
“There is only one potato,” giggled Sally.
“Cut it in four pieces, so it will go into the little kettle, and put
the bits into cold water till it is time to cook them.”
“Do I soak the squash too?”
“No, indeed! just pare it and cut it up, and put it into the steamer
over the pot. It is drier so, though it takes longer to cook.”
Here a scratching at the door caused Sally to run and open it, when Kit
appeared with a covered basket in his mouth.
“Here’s the butcher’s boy!” cried Daisy, much tickled at the idea, as
she relieved him of his load, whereat he licked his lips and began
to beg, evidently thinking that it was his own dinner, for he often
carried it to his master in that way. Being undeceived, he departed in
great wrath and barked all the way down-stairs, to ease his wounded
feelings.
In the basket were two bits of steak (doll’s pounds), a baked pear,
a small cake, and paper with them on which Asia had scrawled, “For
Missy’s lunch, if her cookin’ don’t turn out well.”
“I don’t want any of her old pears and things; my cooking _will_ turn
out well, and I’ll have a splendid dinner; see if I don’t!” cried
Daisy, indignantly.
“We may like them if company should come. It is always well to have
something in the store-room,” said Aunt Jo, who had been taught this
valuable fact by a series of domestic panics.
“Me is hundry,” announced Teddy, who began to think what with so much
cooking going on it was about time for somebody to eat something. His
mother gave him her work-basket to rummage, hoping to keep him quiet
till dinner was ready, and returned to her housekeeping.
“Put on your vegetables, set the table, and then have some coals
kindling ready for the steak.”
What a thing it was to see the potatoes bobbing about in the little
pot; to peep at the squash getting soft so fast in the tiny steamer;
to whisk open the oven door every five minutes to see how the pies
got on, and at last when the coals were red and glowing, to put two
real steaks on a finger-long gridiron and proudly turn them with a
fork. The potatoes were done first, and no wonder, for they had boiled
frantically all the while. They were pounded up with a little pestle,
had much butter and no salt put in (cook forgot it in the excitement of
the moment), then it was made into a mound in a gay red dish, smoothed
over with a knife dipped in milk, and put in the oven to brown.
So absorbed in these last performances had Sally been, that she forgot
her pastry till she opened the door to put in the potato, then a wail
arose, for, alas! alas! the little pies were burnt black!
“Oh, my pies! my darling pies! they are all spoilt!” cried poor Sally,
wringing her dirty little hands as she surveyed the ruin of her work.
The tart was especially pathetic, for the quirls and zigzags stuck up
in all directions from the blackened jelly, like the walls and chimney
of a house after a fire.
“Dear, dear, I forgot to remind you to take them out; it’s just my
luck,” said Aunt Jo, remorsefully. “Don’t cry, darling, it was my
fault; we’ll try again after dinner,” she added, as a great tear
dropped from Sally’s eyes and sizzled on the hot ruins of the tart.
More would have followed, if the steak had not blazed up just then, and
so occupied the attention of cook, that she quickly forgot the lost
pastry.
“Put the meat-dish and your own plates down to warm, while you mash
the squash with butter, salt, and a little pepper on the top,” said
Mrs. Jo, devoutly hoping that the dinner would meet with no further
disasters.
The “cunning pepper-pot” soothed Sally’s feelings, and she dished up
her squash in fine style. The dinner was safely put upon the table;
the six dolls were seated three on a side; Teddy took the bottom, and
Sally the top. When all were settled, it was a most imposing spectacle,
for one doll was in full ball costume, another in her night-gown;
Jerry, the worsted boy, wore his red winter suit, while Annabella,
the noseless darling, was airily attired in nothing but her own kid
skin. Teddy, as father of the family, behaved with great propriety,
for he smilingly devoured every thing offered him, and did not find a
single fault. Daisy beamed upon her company like the weary, warm, but
hospitable hostess, so often to be seen at larger tables than this, and
did the honors with an air of innocent satisfaction, which we do _not_
often see elsewhere.
The steak was so tough, that the little carving-knife would not cut it;
the potato did not go round, and the squash was very lumpy; but the
guests appeared politely unconscious of these trifles; and the master
and mistress of the house cleared the table with appetites that any one
might envy them. The joy of skimming a jug-full of cream mitigated the
anguish felt for the loss of the pies, and Asia’s despised cake proved
a treasure in the way of dessert.
“That is the nicest lunch I ever had; can’t I do it every day?” asked
Daisy as she scraped up and ate the leavings all round.
“You can cook things every day after lessons, but I prefer that you
should eat your dishes at your regular meals, and only have a bit of
gingerbread for lunch. To-day, being the first time, I don’t mind, but
we must keep our rules. This afternoon you can make something for tea
if you like,” said Mrs. Jo, who had enjoyed the dinner-party very much,
though no one had invited her to partake.
“Do let me make flapjacks for Demi, he loves them so, and it’s such fun
to turn them and put sugar in between,” cried Daisy, tenderly wiping a
yellow stain off Annabella’s broken nose, for Bella had refused to eat
squash when it was pressed upon her as good for “lumatism,” a complaint
which it is no wonder she suffered from, considering the lightness of
her attire.
“But if you give Demi goodies, all the others will expect some also,
and then you will have your hands full.”
“Couldn’t I have Demi come up to tea alone just this one time, and
after that I could cook things for the others if they were good,”
proposed Daisy, with a sudden inspiration.
“That is a capital idea, Posy! We will make your little messes rewards
for the good boys, and I don’t know one among them who would not like
something nice to eat more than almost any thing else. If little men
are like big ones, good cooking will touch their hearts and soothe
their tempers delightfully,” added Aunt Jo, with a merry nod toward the
door, where stood Papa Bhaer, surveying the scene with a face full of
amusement.
“That last hit was for me, sharp woman. I accept it, for it is true;
but if I had married thee for thy cooking, heart’s dearest, I should
have fared badly all these years,” answered the professor, laughing,
as he tossed Teddy, who became quite apoplectic in his endeavors to
describe the feast he had just enjoyed.
Daisy proudly showed her kitchen, and rashly promised Uncle Fritz as
many flapjacks as he could eat. She was just telling about the new
rewards when the boys, headed by Demi, burst into the room snuffing the
air like a pack of hungry hounds, for school was out, dinner was not
ready, and the fragrance of Daisy’s steak led them straight to the spot.
A prouder little damsel was never seen than Sally as she displayed her
treasures and told the lads what was in store for them. Several rather
scoffed at the idea of her cooking any thing fit to eat, but Stuffy’s
heart was won at once, Nat and Demi had firm faith in her skill, and
the others said they would wait and see. All admired the kitchen,
however, and examined the stove with deep interest. Demi offered to
buy the boiler on the spot, to be used in a steam-engine which he was
constructing; and Ned declared that the best and biggest saucepan was
just the thing to melt his lead in when he ran bullets, hatchets, and
such trifles.
Daisy looked so alarmed at these proposals, that Mrs. Jo then and
there made and proclaimed a law that no boy should touch, use, or
even approach the sacred stove without a special permit from the
owner thereof. This increased its value immensely in the eyes of the
gentlemen, especially as any infringement of the law would be punished
by the forfeiture of all right to partake of the delicacies promised to
the virtuous.
At this point the bell rang, and the entire population went down to
dinner, which meal was enlivened by each of the boys giving Daisy a
list of things he would like to have cooked for him as fast as he
earned them. Daisy, whose faith in her stove was unlimited, promised
every thing, if Aunt Jo would tell her how to make them. This
suggestion rather alarmed Mrs. Jo, for some of the dishes were quite
beyond her skill,--wedding-cake, for instance, bull’s-eye candy, and
cabbage soup with herrings and cherries in it, which Mr. Bhaer proposed
as his favorite, and immediately reduced his wife to despair, for
German cookery was beyond her.
Daisy wanted to begin again the minute dinner was done, but she was
only allowed to clear up, fill the kettle ready for tea, and wash out
her apron, which looked as if she had cooked a Christmas feast. She
was then sent out to play till five o’clock, for Uncle Fritz said that
too much study, even at cooking stoves, was bad for little minds and
bodies, and Aunt Jo knew by long experience how soon new toys lose
their charm if they are not prudently used.
Every one was very kind to Daisy that afternoon. Tommy promised her
the first fruits of his garden, though the only visible crop just then
was pig-weed; Nat offered to supply her with wood, free of charge;
Stuffy quite worshipped her; Ned immediately fell to work on a little
refrigerator for her kitchen; and Demi, with a punctuality beautiful
to see in one so young, escorted her to the nursery just as the clock
struck five. It was not time for the party to begin, but he begged so
hard to come in and help that he was allowed privileges few visitors
enjoy, for he kindled the fire, ran errands, and watched the progress
of his supper with intense interest. Mrs. Jo directed the affair as she
came and went, being very busy putting up clean curtains all over the
house.
“Ask Asia for a cup of sour cream, then your cakes will be light
without much soda, which I don’t like,” was the first order.
Demi tore down-stairs, and returned with the cream, also a puckered-up
face, for he had tasted it on his way, and found it so sour that he
predicted the cakes would be uneatable. Mrs. Jo took this occasion to
deliver a short lecture from the step-ladder on the chemical properties
of soda, to which Daisy did not listen, but Demi did, and understood
it, as he proved by the brief but comprehensive reply,--
“Yes, I see, soda turns sour things sweet, and the fizzling up makes
them light. Let’s see you do it, Daisy.”
“Fill that bowl nearly full of flour and add a little salt to it,”
continued Mrs. Jo.
“Oh dear, every thing has to have salt in it, seems to me,” said Sally,
who was tired of opening the pill-box in which it was kept.
“Salt is like good-humor, and nearly every thing is better for a pinch
of it, Posy,” and Uncle Fritz stopped as he passed, hammer in hand, to
drive up two or three nails for Sally’s little pans to hang on.
“You are not invited to tea, but I’ll give you some cakes, and I won’t
be cross,” said Daisy, putting up her floury little face to thank him
with a kiss.
“Fritz, you must not interrupt my cooking class, or I’ll come in and
moralize when you are teaching Latin. How would you like that?” said
Mrs. Jo, throwing a great chintz curtain down on his head.
“Very much, try it and see,” and the amiable Father Bhaer went singing
and tapping about the house like a mammoth woodpecker.
“Put the soda into the cream, and when it ‘fizzles’ as Demi says, stir
it into the flour, and beat it up as hard as ever you can. Have your
griddle hot, butter it well, and then fry away till I come back,” and
Aunt Jo vanished also.
Such a clatter as the little spoon made, and such a beating as the
batter got, it quite foamed, I assure you; and when Daisy poured some
on to the griddle, it rose like magic into a puffy flapjack, that made
Demi’s mouth water. To be sure, the first one stuck and scorched,
because she forgot the butter, but after that first failure all went
well, and six capital little cakes were safely landed in a dish.
“I think I’d like maple-syrup better than sugar,” said Demi from his
arm-chair, where he had settled himself after setting the table in a
new and peculiar manner.
“Then go and ask Asia for some,” answered Daisy, going into the
bath-room to wash her hands.
While the nursery was empty something dreadful happened. You see, Kit
had been feeling hurt all day because he had carried meat safely and
yet got none to pay him. He was not a bad dog, but he had his little
faults like the rest of us, and could not always resist temptation.
Happening to stroll into the nursery at that moment, he smelt the
cakes, saw them unguarded on the low table, and never stopping to think
of consequences, swallowed all six at one mouthful. I am glad to say
that they were very hot, and burned him so badly that he could not
repress a surprised yelp. Daisy heard it, ran in, saw the empty dish,
also the end of a yellow tail disappearing under the bed. Without a
word she seized that tail, pulled out the thief, and shook him until
his ears flapped wildly, then bundled him down-stairs to the shed,
where he spent a lonely evening in the coal-bin.
Cheered by the sympathy which Demi gave her, Daisy made another bowlful
of batter, and fried a dozen cakes, which were even better than the
others. Indeed, Uncle Fritz after eating two sent up word that he had
never tasted any so nice, and every boy at the table below envied Demi
at the flapjack party above.
It was a truly delightful supper, for the little teapot lid only fell
off three times, and the milk jug upset but once; the cakes floated in
syrup, and the toast had a delicious beef-steak flavor, owing to cook’s
using the gridiron to make it on. Demi forgot philosophy, and stuffed
like any carnal boy, while Daisy planned sumptuous banquets, and the
dolls looked on smiling affably.
“Well, dearies, have you had a good time?” asked Mrs. Jo, coming up
with Teddy on her shoulder.
“A _very_ good time. I shall come again _soon_,” answered Demi, with
emphasis.
“I’m afraid you have eaten too much, by the look of that table.”
“No, I haven’t; I only ate fifteen cakes, and they were very little
ones,” protested Demi, who had kept his sister busy supplying his plate.
“They won’t hurt him, they are so nice,” said Daisy, with such a funny
mixture of maternal fondness and housewifely pride that Aunt Jo could
only smile and say,--
“Well, on the whole, the new game is a success, then?”
“_I_ like it,” said Demi, as if his approval was all that was necessary.
“It is the dearest play ever made!” cried Daisy, hugging her little
dish-tub as she proposed to wash up the cups. “I just wish everybody
had a sweet cooking stove like mine,” she added, regarding it with
affection.
“This play ought to have a name,” said Demi, gravely removing the syrup
from his countenance with his tongue.
“It has.”
“Oh, what?” asked both children, eagerly.
“Well, I think we will call it Patty pans,” and Aunt Jo retired,
satisfied with the success of her last trap to catch a sunbeam.