United States or Heard Island and McDonald Islands ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
She hungered for someone to whom to say the words and half arose to go to her mother, to where her mother was making gooseberry jam in the kitchen, and then sat down again. "They were going down into the hall of the hidden voices," she whispered to herself. The words excited and intoxicated her as had the words from the lips of Melville Stoner.
We celebrated by opening our last tin of jam, which we had carried carefully all the way, waiting for an occasion. We left the remains of the jam for the small family, and as we were mounting we saw their faces smeared and streaked with "First Quality Damson." We started the climb almost at once.
Take a pound-cake, cut it in slices about half an inch in thickness, spread each slice with jam or preserve, then replace them to the original form; cover the cake with whites of eggs and sugar, whisked to a froth, and set it in a cool oven to dry.
The other white man came forward; even the Chinese was moved to interest. Fred saw the box passed from one to the other. There did not seem to be any color line drawn about this transient solace. Fred took a smoke himself. "What are you up for?" the younger man inquired. Fred experienced a shock. "Oh ... you see ... I just got caught in a jam. It will come out all right."
Grandma Rachel meant to be very strict with us children, and accordingly was prompt to discipline us; but we discovered early in our acquaintance with her that the child who got a spanking was sure to get a hot cookie or the jam pot to lick, so we did not stand in great awe of her punishments. Even if it came to a spanking it was only a farce.
A large cake, two packets of chocolate and fifty fags. Hum, won't go far among ten. A pot of jam go fine on the cake or may tackle it with a spoon. And a brief note hidden away at the bottom "For my boy." God, how it hurt. What surging memories of a mother's love, of a mother's eternal tender care, swarmed up mistily before the eyes. Secretly, half-ashamedly, are such missives carefully put away.
"When I am grown up," Grizzel said, sucking her sugary fingers as she spoke, "I am going to have a fruit-farm and make immense quantities of jam to send home. Grandmamma says our jam is the nicest she has tasted, especially our peach and apricot. I am going to try grape jam too, and I shall preserve mandarin oranges whole, and pineapples, and figs."
Trapes, staring; then all at once she laughed, a strange laugh that came and went again immediately, yet left her features a little less grim than usual, as, reaching out, she grasped the old man's feeble hand. "I guess you're only bein' p'lite," said she, "but jest for that you're sure goin' t' eat as much cake an' jam as your small insides can hold."
There you accidentally let fall perhaps from your breast pocket- -the little glass dropper you had used and as you bent over the old lady, she grabbed at you, and felt your jersey sleeve even bit at it and tasted raspberry jam. That jam got on that sleeve as you climbed up past the Patterson's window, where a jar of it was on the window-sill "
"Where's the butter, Unc Nunkie?" asked Ojo. Unc looked out of the window and stroked his long beard. Then he turned to the Munchkin boy and shook his head. "Isn't," said he. "Isn't any butter? That's too bad, Unc. Where's the jam then?" inquired Ojo, standing on a stool so he could look through all the shelves of the cupboard. But Unc Nunkie shook his head again. "Gone," he said.
Word Of The Day