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There must be four pounds of eggs in weight in the shells, the yolks and the whites beat and separated, the whites beat to a froth; you must not cease beating till they are beat to a curd, to prevent oiling; to the quantity of a cake put a pound and a half of orange-peel and citron shred, without plumbs, and half a pound of carraway seeds, it will require four hours baking, and the oven must be as hot as for bread, but let it be well slaked when it has remained an hour in the oven, and stop it close; you may ice it if you please.
What could I say but that they were all very pretty? As far as I can remember, I did say that and nothing else. Very pretty they were, and neatly dressed, and attractive; but among them all there was not a pair of rosy cheeks. How should there be, when every room in the building was heated up to the condition of an oven by those damnable hot-air pipes.
Never was there more resonant gaiety. The landlord and his boy were become insufficient to draw the ale, stout, and porter. In the evening in the lower room, with its windows all aglow, there was not a vacant table. They sang, they shouted; the great old hearth, vaulted like an oven, with its iron bars piled with coals, shone out brightly. It was like a house of fire and noise.
Slice even slices of baker's bread, not too thin, put in biscuit pan on the top rack of a very hot oven, brown nicely on one side, then turn and brown on the other, spread with butter, and a little powdered sugar, if desired, and serve at once. Or put the slices on a long fork, hold before a red coal fire, without flame, toast on both sides and proceed as above.
"Yes, it's too bad I've got to go. New York will be like an oven." "Put it off." "I can't, I'm afraid. I've a fitting." Archie argued no further. He was a married man of old enough standing to know the importance of fittings. "Besides," said Lucille, "I want to see father." Archie repressed an exclamation of astonishment. "I'll be back to-morrow evening. You will be perfectly happy."
Cold and wet and miserable they came tramping into a cheerless, half-empty town within sound and range of the German guns. They found a reception committee awaiting them there in the person of two Salvation Army lassies and a Salvation Army Captain. The women had a fire going in the dilapidated oven of a vanished villager's kitchen.
First the atmosphere becoming close and hot as the interior of an oven; then suddenly changing to cold, with gusts of wind, and the sky darkening as though the sun were eclipsed. But, unlike the others, they are not exposed to the full fury of the blast; neither are they in danger of being blinded by the sulphureous dust, nor pelted with sticks and stones.
Muffins stood in a shining pile upon the fender, and a corpulent teapot on the top of the oven. Around the table sat two young men of about the ages of nineteen and twenty, and three daughters who might range from eighteen to fifteen. Their mother was by the fire preparing the tea for her husband and children, who had all lately come in from their work.
The next minute found Rosalie seated by the round table in the little back kitchen, with a cup of steaming coffee and a slice of hot cake before her. Such a cosy little kitchen it was, with a bright fire burning in the grate, and another hot cake standing on the top of the oven, to be kept hot until it was wanted.
The Indian went over to a large stone oven and took out four meal cakes, which he carried to the boys, then fetched them fruit and wine. "Where is Anastacio and the others?" asked Roldan, breakfast over. "In the temascal." Roldan sprang to his feet. "Do you hear that, Adan?" he cried. "We have always wanted to see Indians in temascal." To the sentinel, "Take us there at once." The Indian scowled.
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