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There's lots for little girls to learn, though I dare say Uncle Win will think it can all come out of a book." "Some of it might come out of a cookbook," said Betty demurely. "Your mother's the best cookbook I know about good enough for anyone." "But we can't send mother all round the world." "We just don't want to," said Warren. Mrs. Leverett smiled.
The whole foray into obeying a cookbook was an unsuccessful attempt at imitating school cuisine which she dumped in the trash in a choleric gesture lasting no longer than his facial grimace. She took the plate from him, removed her own as well, and scraped the contents away in five seconds.
And the lips of The Other Little Girl moved as though saying it too. The Other Little Girl smiled. And neither of them knew that just then she was beautiful. Aunt Olivia was trying to meet her own courage test. She had been trying a good many days. Duty stern, unswerving duty bade her inspect Rebecca Mary's little cookbook diary.
"When thy father and thy mother forsake the," wrote Rebecca Mary in the cookbook diary, "and thy Aunt Olivia for I know it means and thy Aunt Olivia then the Lord will take the up, but I dont feal as if anyboddy had taken me up. The ministers wife did once but of course she had to put me down again rite away.
And with actually a bit of song on her lips, Billy skipped up-stairs for her ruffled apron and dust-cap two necessary accompaniments to this dinner-getting, in her opinion. Billy found the apron and dust-cap with no difficulty; but it took fully ten of her precious minutes to unearth from its obscure hiding-place the blue-and-gold "Bride's Helper" cookbook, one of Aunt Hannah's wedding gifts.
Seems to be too much for their vocal organs they'd rather do a week's washing!" Other thoughts came to Aunt Olivia as she lay on her bed, doing her whimsical penance for violating the sanctity of the little old cookbook. She was not comfortable. It was a hard bed nothing was soft of Aunt Olivia's. She moved about on it uneasily.
"I don't know anything about building a fire. How under the sun shall I begin?" "Read this and grow wise," answered Betty, thrusting an open cookbook under Charlotte's nose. "That tells you just how to do it." Each of the other girls having brought a cookbook buried herself in it for the time being, while Charlotte, left to her own resources, proceeded to build the fire.
The most hampering circumstance was the cookbook itself, which she was driven to use in her new undertaking. There was room on the blank leaves and above and below the recipes for cake and pudding and pie. The book was one Aunt Olivia had given her long ago to draw impossible pictures in.
Then she took from a shelf a railroad time-table, which lay in company with her cookbook and a few other well-worn volumes; for the good cook cared for reading very much as she cared for her own mayonnaise dressing; she wanted but little at a time, but she liked it. "The last train to the city seems to be seven-ten," she said to herself. "No other train after that stops at Thorbury.
Steve Dowdy was never known as having light fingers all the time I went to school with him. Fact is, only that I saw him do it with my own eyes, nothing could make me believe Steve a thief. Oh! it's just rank!" Max sauntered off, gun in hand, while the cook busied himself about the fire. Bandy-legs had brought his wonderful cookbook along.
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