DORIS MAKES A PUDDING.
"Seventeen pounds ten! seventeen pounds ten!" mutters Honor to
herself, as with paper and pencil in hand and with knitted brows she
makes little notes, seated the while on a corner of the kitchen table.
"I wish you wouldn't shake so!" says Doris, who, with sleeves rolled
up and in a huge white apron, is in all the agonies of making a
steak-pudding. "If you keep on chattering too," she goes on, "I know
I shall leave out half the things, and then you'll never consider how
you harassed me with those pounds, shillings, and pence; but 'blame
it all on to me,' as Bobby says. Let me see, now: have I got
everything in? Oh, I know! a little pot in the middle to keep the
gravy in. Now, I shall have to move some of the meat again. There!
Oh, goodness me! I do hope the crust will be eatable; but I don't
suppose it will in the least. It seems brick-bat-ified to me. Well,
I've done my best, anyway." And with a prodigious sigh of relief
Doris ties the cloth. "Now," she says, "you can go on, Honor; what
about this horrid money? I really wish we had lived in the time of
the ancient Britons, then we shouldn't have wanted money at all. It
is no doubt a very nice thing when one has plenty of it; but when one
hasn't!--" Words fail to express Doris's horror of such a situation,
and her cast-up eyes and elevated floury hands finish the sentence
for her.
"We are not quite so badly off as that," Honor says, returning to the
attack. "I was just saying, seventeen pounds ten a quarter. Take
five pounds from that--for rent, you know--and it leaves twelve
pounds ten. That's not much is it, Doris? If we want to live we
shall _have_ to do something to make both ends meet. Hark, there's
the door-bell! Who can it be, I wonder?"
In a few seconds Jane appears with the intelligence that she has just
ushered the two Mr. Talboys into the drawing-room, having been quite
ignorant of the fact that Molly is there, serenely seated on the
floor, working away at the chintz covers which she and the other
girls are making for some of the shabby old school-room furniture
which now has to do-duty for the drawing-room. Molly is arrayed in
one of Jane's large aprons, to keep her black frock from soiling the
delicate colours of the stuff; and, as usual, when she is busy, her
hair is rumpled up in a fashion which is perhaps more becoming than
tidy.
"Don't fuss yourself, Honor," says Doris composedly. "Molly will not
mind a bit, and I daresay she will explain the situation in some way
of her own which will amuse the old gentlemen immensely. Here she
comes; now we shall hear."
"Girls!" cries Molly, dancing into the kitchen, "here are the Mr.
Talboys. They found me sitting on the floor amongst all the work;
and I couldn't get up at first, because my legs were so cramped. So
they came and helped me up, and then we all stood and laughed, till I
remembered my manners and asked them to sit down. I only just saved
Mr. Ben from seating himself on the broken chair, but I rushed up in
time and explained that that was only to be looked at. Then I told
them Doris was making a pudding, and that you were busy about
something, Honor; but that I would come and see if you had finished.
What's the matter? Why do you both look at me as if I had been
committing high treason?"
"Well, you _have_ in a way," says Doris reprovingly, "talking all
that nonsense. Weren't the old gentlemen surprised?"
"Not a bit," answers Molly promptly; "they enjoyed the fun, and I
left them chattering away to Daisy and Bobby as if they had known
them all their lives. Now, don't stand there, you two, as if you
were going to preach me a sermon five miles long; come and see the
old gentlemen. They are most anxious to make Doris's acquaintance."
"Yes, that's all very well," says that young lady as she and Honor
follow Molly; "but you needn't have said anything about the pudding."
"Well, I must say I don't see anything very extraordinary in either
the making or the eating of a pudding," argues Molly, leading the way
to the drawing-room with her head in the air.
With that she opens the door, and waving her hand towards her sister,
says:
"This is Doris, Mr. Talboys. She was dreadfully shocked because I
told you she was making a pudding, which I think very silly."
"_Molly!_" exclaims Honor, whereupon the young lady lapses into
silence.
"I am very glad to hear you were so sensibly employed, my dear Miss
Doris," says Mr. Ned, taking the girl's hand and warmly greeting her.
"I am afraid there are not many young ladies in these days who can
boast of such useful knowledge as that of making a pudding; but in
our young days it was considered as necessary for the daughters of a
family to be taught to cook, to bake, to preserve, and so on, as it
was to learn reading and writing and all the rest of it. Was it not,
Brother Ben?"
"Surely, surely!" answers Mr. Ben, nodding to his brother from the
opposite end of the room.
In a very short time they are all chatting freely together; and
Honor, thinking it a good opportunity, gathers up her courage, after
a little nervous glance at her sisters, to tell the brothers of their
wish to turn their talents to account in order to increase their
income. The old gentlemen are delighted, and enthusiastically
promise all the help that they can possibly give in the matter.
Indeed, they express profound regret that their age prevents their
becoming pupils of the young ladies themselves.
"Ben had a decided talent for drawing as a youngster," says Mr. Ned
with a roguish twinkle in his eye. "You remember that wonderful
quadruped you once drew, Ben, about which there were such divided
opinions? My own idea was that it was a sheep of unusual dimensions;
but I believe finally it was settled that it was a horse--possibly an
Arab. They are small animals, you know."
"I think I intended it for a cow, Brother Ned," remarks Mr. Benjamin
modestly; "but I assure you, young ladies, my talent for drawing was
not to be compared to my brother's--shall we say genius--for music.
He was actually known one day, after many hours of hard study, to
have picked out and played (with one finger) that difficult and
classical work popularly known as 'God Save the Queen.' Now, what do
you think of _that_?"
Amidst the general laughter which arises at this good-natured
sparring between the two old men, they rise to take their leave; and
while Mr. Ned intrusts to Honor a courteous message to her mother to
the effect that he and his brother will shortly do themselves the
honour of calling upon her, when they shall hope to find her
sufficiently recovered to receive them, Mr. Ben is entreating Doris
to allow Daisy and Bobby to go to tea with them the next day.
"Master Dick here would consider himself too old to join such a
juvenile party, I expect," says the old man, patting him on the back
kindly; "but we mean to ask you all to come and spend an evening with
us soon, if you can put up with two such old fogies as Brother Ned
and myself for hosts. We must have someone from the town to come and
tune the piano; and then, perhaps, my brother will play his piece to
you--eh, Ned?"
"Certainly, Ben; but then we must also bring down that wonderful
picture of yours for the young ladies to see. Miss Honor might
perhaps take some very useful hints from it;" and with that parting
shot Mr. Ned gives Mr. Benjamin his arm, and they trot down the steps
together, away down the garden, and into the road.