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Updated: June 1, 2025
Putting his wheel on its rack, he hustled into the kitchen where Elinor, prettier than ever in her long blue apron, her face softly flushed from the fire, stood dishing up a delicious supper. "You are late, small boy," she cried. "Get your hands washed, and go call Lester. I think I left him about an hour ago, and he has been as still as a mouse ever since. He has something fine to tell you."
Jenny was dishing up the dinner. Harriet was waiting. Catty only ran up for a minute to undo the hooks and brush your hair. When Mamma sent her to bed she came creeping back into the dining-room. Everybody was eating dinner. She sickened with fright in the steam and smell of dinner.
The aged housekeeper was no less flustered and hurried in obeying the numerous and contradictory commands of her mistress, concerning preserves, pastry and fruit, the mode of marshalling and dishing the dinner, the necessity of not permitting the melted butter to run to oil, and the danger of allowing Juno who, though formally banished from the parlour, failed not to maraud about the out-settlements of the family to enter the kitchen.
"What d'ye think I want, a collection of freaks broken loose from the lunatic asylum? Here, you, Will, be dishing out some more bacon on to your plate; Frank, take up the coffee-pot and be helping Bluff. Uncle Toby, just look pleasant." "Pretend you found my gun, and I was giving you half a dollar, Uncle Toby," remarked Bluff, quickly.
Just before dishing the meat, make a caper sauce, as directed in receipt No. 113; serve the mutton on a hot dish, with the turnips laid around it, and send the sauce in a gravy-boat to the table with it.
They were pretty certain of dishing Serbia at the first go, and it was up to them to get through guns and shells to the old Turk, who was running pretty short in his first supply. Sandy said that they wanted the railway, but they wanted still more the river, and they could make certain of that in a week.
"But never mind, we scared them before they had a chance to eat much." "I 'clar t' goodness sakes alive!" gasped Dinah, when she saw the ice cream freezer carried into her kitchen, "yo' am suttinly a smart boy, Massa Bert dat's what yo' suah am!" "Oh, well, the others helped me find it," said Bert, modestly. As Dinah and Mrs. Bobbsey were dishing out the cream, the colored cook uttered a cry.
There was no clatter of dishes, no scurrying back and forth from table to stove in the final excitement of dishing up. There was, however, a highly agreeable odor of stewing chicken, a crisp smell of baking biscuit. In the darkened hall Peter had to pause to steady himself.
Consequently, he'd have had old Carolina, our cook, dishing up nightly fearful quantities of the sort of grub I was raised on. And that would be wasteful. Also, he'd sit under the catalpa tree outside the western wall of the hacienda and never take his eyes off the highway from El Toro or the trail from Sespe.
They were constantly employed in dishing potatoes or carving the goose or ladling gravy. The hired waiter circled around the room, his limp napkin over his arm, his hands full of plates and dishes. He was a great joker; he had names of his own for different articles of food, that sent gales of laughter around the table.
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