Even in the late 1800s there was a fear that young women were losing the ability to prepare meals. Alcott emphasized "good plain cooking" in many of her books, perhaps because of her early years with little food. As in "An Old-Fashioned Girl," a country cousin saves the day.A young girl in a little cap and a big apron sat poring over a cook-book, with a face full of the deepest anxiety. She had the kitchen to herself, for Mamma was out for the day, and cook was off duty. So Edith could fuss to her heart's content. She belonged to a cooking class, the members of which were to have a luncheon at two o'clock with the girl next door; and now the all-absorbing question was "What shall I make?" Turning the pages of the well-used book, she talked to herself as, the various recipes met her eye.
"Lobster-salad and chicken-croquettes I 've had, and neither were very good. Now, I want to distinguish myself by something very nice. I 'd try a meat-porcupine or a mutton-duck if there were time; but they are fussy, and ought to be rehearsed before they are given to the class. Bavarian cream needs berries and whipped cream, and I will not tire my arms beating eggs. 'Apricots a la Neige' is an easy thing and wholesome, but the girls 'll not like it, I know, as well as some rich thing that will make them ill, as Carrie's plum-pudding did. A little meat-dish is best for lunch. I 'd try sweet-breads and bacon, if I did n't hate to burn my face and scent my clothes, frying. Birds are fine; let me see if I can do larded grouse. No, I don't like to touch that cold, fat stuff. Potted pigeons—the very thing! We had that in our last lesson, but the girls are all crazy about puff-paste, so they wont try pigeons. Why did n't I think of it at once?—for we have them in the house, and don't want them to-day, Mamma being called away. All ready, too; so nice! I do detest to pick and clean birds. 'Simmer from one to three hours.' Plenty of time. I 'll do it! La, la, la!"
And away skipped Edith in high spirits, for she did not like to cook, yet wished to stand well with the class, some members of which were very ambitious, and now and then succeeded with an elaborate dish, more by good luck than skill.
Six plump birds were laid out on a platter, with their legs folded in the most pathetic manner. These Edith bore away in triumph to the kitchen, and opening the book before her, she went to work energetically, resigning herself to frying the pork and cutting up the onion, which she had overlooked when hastily reading the recipe. In time they were stuffed, the legs tied down to the tails, the birds browned in the stew-pan, and put to simmer with a pinch of herbs.
"Now I can clear up, and rest a bit. If I ever have to work for a living, I 'll not be a cook," said Edith, with a sigh of weariness, as she washed her dishes, wondering how there could be so many; for no careless Irish girl would have made a greater clutter over this small job than this young lady who had not yet learned one of the most important things that a cook should know.
The bell rang just as she finished and was planning to lie and rest on the dining-room sofa till it was time to take up her pigeons.
"Please say that I 'm engaged," she whispered, as the maid passed on her way to the door.
"It's your cousin, Miss, from the country, and she has a trunk with her. Of course she's to come in?" asked Maria, coming back in a moment.
"Oh, dear me! I forgot all about Patty. Mamma said any day this week, and this is the most inconvenient one of the seven. Of course she must come in. Go and tell her I 'll be there in a minute," answered Edith, too well bred not to give even an unwelcome guest a kindly greeting.
Whisking off cap and apron, and taking a last look at the birds, just beginning to send forth a savory steam, she went to meet her cousin.
Patty was a rosy country lass of sixteen, plainly dressed and rather shy, but a sweet, sensible little body, with a fresh, rustic air which marked her for a field-flower at once.
"How do you do, dear? I 'm so sorry Mamma is away; she was called to a sick friend in a hurry. But I 'm here, and glad to see you. I 've an engagement at two, and you shall go with me. It's only a lunch close by, with a party of girls; I 'll tell you about it upstairs."
Chatting away, Edith led Patty up to the pretty room ready for her, and soon both were laughing over a lively account of the exploits of the cooking class. Suddenly, in the midst of the cream-pie which had been her great success, and almost the death of all who partook thereof, Edith paused, sniffed the air, and crying tragically, "They are burning! They are burning!" rushed down-stairs as if the house were on fire.
Much alarmed, Patty hurried after her, guided to the kitchen by the sound of lamentation. There she found Edith hanging over a stew-pan, with anguish in her face and despair in her voice, as she breathlessly explained the cause of her flight.
"My pigeons! Are they burnt? After all my trouble—I shall be heart-broken if they are spoilt."
Reluctantly Patty owned that a slight flavor of scorch did pervade the air, but suggested that an additional mite of seasoning would conceal the sad fact.
"I 'll try it. Do you love to cook? Don't you want to make something for the class? It would please the girls, and make up for my poor burnt pigeons," said Edith, as she skimmed the broth and added popper and salt with a lavish hand.
"I don't know anything about pigeons, except how to feed and pet them," answered Patty. "We don't eat ours. I can cook plain dishes and make all kinds of bread. Would biscuit or tea-cake do?"
Patty looked so pleased at the idea of contributing to the feast, that Edith could not bear to tell her that hot biscuits and tea-cake were not just "the thing" for a city lunch. She accepted the offer, and Patty fell to work so neatly and skillfully that, by the time the pigeons were done, two panfuls of delicious little biscuit were baked, and folded in a nice napkin ready to carry off in the porcelain plate with a wreath of roses painted on it.
In spite of all her flavoring, the burnt odor and taste still seemed to linger about Edith's dish; but fondly hoping that no one would perceive it, she dressed hastily, gave Patty a touch here and there, and set forth at the appointed time to Augusta's lunch.
Six girls belonged to this class, and the rule was for each to bring her contribution and set it on the table prepared to receive them all; then, when the number was complete, the covers were raised, the dishes examined, eaten (if possible), and pronounced upon, the prize being awarded to the best. The girl at whose house the lunch was given provided the prize, which was often both pretty and valuable.
On this occasion a rich bouquet of Jacqueminot roses in a lovely vase ornamented the middle of the table, and the eyes of all rested admiringly upon it, as the seven girls gathered around, after depositing their dishes.
Patty had been kindly welcomed, and soon forgot her shyness, in wonder at the handsome dresses, graceful manners, and lively gossip of the girls. A pleasant, merry set, all wearing the uniform of the class,—dainty white aprons, and coquettish caps with many-colored ribbons, like the maid-servants on the stage. At the sound of a silver bell, each took her place before the covered dish which bore her name, and when Augusta said, "Ladies, we will begin," off went napkins, silver covers, white paper, or whatever hid the contributions from longing eyes. A moment of deep silence, while quick glances took in the prospect, and then a unanimous explosion of laughter followed; for six platters of potted pigeons stood upon the board, with nothing but the flowers to break the ludicrous monotony of the scene!
How they laughed! For a time they could do nothing else; because if one tried to explain, she broke down and joined in the gale of merriment again quite helplessly. They made such a noise that Augusta's mamma peeped in to see what was the matter. Six agitated hands pointed to the comical sight on the table, which looked as if a flight of potted pigeons had alighted there, and six breathless voices cried in a chorus: "Is n't it funny? Don't tell!"
Much amused, the good lady retired to enjoy the joke alone, while the exhausted girls wiped their eyes and began to talk, all at once. Such a clatter! But out of it all, Patty evolved the fact that each had meant to surprise the rest,—and certainly had succeeded.
"I tried puff-paste," said Augusta, fanning her hot face.
"So did I!" cried the others.
"And it was a dead failure."
"So was mine!" echoed the voices.
"Then I thought I 'd make the other dish we had that day-"
"Just what I did!"
"Feeling sure you all would try the pastry, and perhaps get on better than I."
"Exactly like me!" and a fresh laugh ended this general confession.
"Now we must eat our pigeons, as we have nothing else, and it is against the rule to add from outside stores. I propose that each girl passes her dish around; then we all can criticise it, and so get some good out of this very funny lunch.
Augusta's plan was carried out; and all being hungry after their unusual exertions, the girls fell upon the unfortunate birds like so many famished creatures. The first one went very well, but when the dishes were passed again, each taster looked at it anxiously; for none were very good, there was nothing to fall back upon, and variety is the spice of life, as every one knows.
"Oh, for a slice of bread!" sighed one damsel.
"Why did n't we think of it?" asked another.
"I did ; but we always have so much cake, I thought it was foolish to lay in rolls," exclaimed Augusta, rather mortified at the neglect.
"I expected to have to taste six pies, and one does n't want bread with pastry, you know."
As Edith spoke, she suddenly remembered Patty's biscuit, which had been left on the side-table by their modest maker, as there seemed to be no room for them.
Rejoicing now over the rather despised dish, Edith ran to get it, saying, as she set it in the middle, with a flourish:
"My cousin's contribution. She came so late, she only had time for that. I 'm so glad I took the liberty of bringing her and them."
A murmur of welcome greeted the much-desired addition to the feast, which would have been a decided failure without it, and the pretty plate went briskly round, till nothing was left but the painted roses in it. With this help, the best of the potted pigeons were eaten, while a lively discussion went on about what they would have next time.
"Let us each tell our dish, and not change. We shall never learn if we don't keep to one thing till we do it well. I will choose mince-pie, and bring a good one, if it takes me all the week to do it," said Edith, heroically taking the hardest thing she could think of, to encourage the others.
Fired by this noble example, each girl pledged herself to do or die, and a fine list of rich dishes was made out by these ambitious young cooks. Then a vote of thanks to Patty was passed, her biscuit unanimously pronounced the most successful contribution, and the vase presented to the delighted girl, whose blushes were nearly as deep as the color of the flowers behind which she tried to hide them.
Soon after this ceremony the party broke up, and Edith went home to tell the merry story, proudly adding that the country cousin had won the prize.
"You rash child, to undertake mince-pie! It is one of the hardest things to make, and about the most unwholesome when eaten. Read the recipe and see what you have pledged yourself to do, my dear," said her mother, much amused at the haps and mishaps of the cooking class.
Edith opened her book and started bravely off at "Puff-paste"; but by the time she had come to the end of the three pages devoted to directions for the making of that indigestible delicacy, her face was very sober, and when she read aloud the following recipe for the mince-meat, despair slowly settled upon her like a cloud.
One cup chopped meat; 1 1/2 cups raisins; 1 1/2 cups currants: 1 1/2 cups brown sugar; 1 1/3 cups molasses; 3 cups chopped apples ; 1 cup meat liquor; 2 tea-spoonfuls salt; 2 tea-spoonfuls cinnamon; 1/2 tea-spoonful mace; 1/2 tea-spoonful powdered cloves; 1 lemon, grated; 1/4 piece citron, sliced; 1/2 cup brandy; 1/4 cup wine; 3 tea-spoonfuls rose-water.
"Oh, my, what a job! I shall have to work at it every day till next Saturday, for the paste alone will take all the wits I have. I was rash, but I spoke without thinking, and wanted to do something really fine. And now I must blunder along as well as I can," groaned Edith.
"I can help about the measuring and weighing and chopping. I always help mother at Thanksgiving time, and she makes delicious pies. We never have mince-pies at any other time, as she thinks it's bad for us," said Patty, full of sympathy and good-will.
"Patty, what are you to take to the lunch?" asked Edith's mother, smiling at her daughter's mournful face, bent over the fatal book full of dainty messes that had tempted the unwary learner to her doom.
"Only coffee," replied Patty. "I can't make fancy things, but my coffee is always good. They said they wanted it, so I offered."
"I shall have my pills and powders ready, for if you all go on at this rate, you will need a dose of some sort after your lunch. Give your orders, Edith, and devote your mind to the task. I wish you good luck and good digestion, my dears."
With that the mamma left the girls to cheer each other, and to make plans for a daily lesson till the perfect pie was made.
They certainly did their best, for they began on Monday, and each morning through the week went to the mighty task with daily increasing courage and skill. And they truly needed the former, for even good-natured Nancy became tired of having "the young ladies fussing round so much,"and looked cross as the girls appeared in the kitchen.
Edith's brothers laughed at the various failures which appeared at table, and dear Mamma grew weary of tasting pastry and mince-meat in all stages of progression. But the undaunted damsels kept on till Saturday came, and then a very superior pie stood ready to be offered for the inspection of the class.
"I never want to see another," said Edith, as the girls dressed together, weary, but well satisfied with their labor; for the pie had been praised by all beholders, and the fragrance of Patty's coffee filled the house, as it stood ready to be poured, hot and clear, into the best silver pot at the last moment.
"Well, I feel as if I 'd lived in a spice-mill this week, or a pastry-cook's kitchen; and I 'm glad we are done. Your brothers wont get any pie for a long while, I guess, if it depends on you," laughed Patty, putting on the new ribbons her cousin had given her."
"When Florence's brothers were here last night, I heard those rascals making all sorts of fun of us, and Alf said we ought to let them come to lunch. I scorned the idea, and made their mouths water, by telling about the good things we were going to have," said Edith, exulting over the severe remarks she had made to these gluttonous young men, who adored pie and yet jeered at unfortunate cooks.
Florence, the lunch-giver of the week, had made her table pretty with a posy at each place, put the necessary roll in each artistically folded napkin, and hung the prize from the gas burner,-a large blue satin bag full of the most delicious bonbons money could buy. There was some delay about beginning, as one distracted cook sent word that her potato-puffs would n't brown, and begged them to wait for her. So they adjourned to the parlor, and talked till the flushed but triumphant Ella arrived with the puffs in fine order.
When all was ready and the covers were raised, another surprise awaited them; not a merry one, like the last, but a very serious affair, which produced domestic warfare in two houses at least. On each dish lay a card bearing a new name for its carefully prepared delicacies. The mince-pie was re-christened "Nightmare," veal cutlets "Dyspepsia," escalloped lobster "Fits," lemon sherbet "Colic," coffee "Palpitation," and so on, even to the pretty sack of confectionery, which was labeled "Toothache."
Great was the indignation of the insulted cooks, and a general cry of "Who did it?" arose. The poor maid who waited on them declared with tears that not a soul had been in, and she herself absent only five minutes in getting the ice-water. Florence felt that her guests had been insulted, and promised to find out the wretch and punish him or her in the most terrible manner. So the irate young ladies ate their lunch before it cooled, but forgot to criticise the dishes, so full were they of wonder at this daring deed. They were just beginning to calm down, when a loud sneeze caused a general rush toward the sofa that stood in a recess of the dining-room. A small boy, nearly suffocated with suppressed laughter and dust, was dragged forth, and put on trial without a moment's delay. Florence was judge, the others jury, and the unhappy youth, being penned in a corner, was ordered to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, on penalty of a sound whipping with the big Japanese war-fan that hung on the wall over his head.
Vainly trying to suppress his giggles, Phil faced the seven ladies like a man, and told as little as possible, delighting to torment them, like a true boy.
"Do you know who put those cards there?" asked Florence, who conducted the examination of the culprit.
"Don't you wish you did?"
"Phil Gordon, answer at once."
"Yes, I do."
"Was it Alf? He 's at home Saturdays, and it 's just like a horrid Harvard soph to plague us so."
"It was—not."
"Did you see it done?"
"I did."
"Man, or woman? Mary fibs, and may have been bribed."
"Man," with a chuckle of great glee.
"Do I know him?"
"Oh, don't you!"
"Edith's brother Rex?"
"No, ma'am."
"Do be a good boy, and tell us! We wont scold, though it was a very, very rude thing to do."
"What will you give me?"
"Do you need to be bribed to do your duty?"
"Well, it's no fun to hide in that stuffy place, and sniff things good to cat, and see you make way with them, without offering a fellow a taste. Give me a good trial at the lunch, and I 'll see what I can do for you."
"Boys are such gluttons! Shall we, girls?" said Florence, turning to her guests.
"Yes, we must know," came the unanimous answer.
"Then go and eat, you bad boy; but we shall stand guard over you till you tell us who wrote and put those insulting cards here."
Florence let out the prisoner, and stood by him while he ate (in a surprisingly short time) the best of everything on the table, for he well knew that such a rare chance would not soon be his again.
"Now, give me some of that candy, and I 'll tell," demanded the young Shylock, bound to make the best of his power while it lasted.
"Did you ever see such a little torment? I can't give the nice bonbons, because they 're a prize, and we have n't decided who is to have them."
"Never mind. Pick out a few and get rid of him," cried the girls, hovering about their prisoner and longing to shake the truth out of him.
A handful of caramels was reluctantly bestowed, and then all waited for the name of the evil-doer with breathless interest.
"Well," began Phil, with exasperating slowness, "Alf wrote the cards, and gave me half a dollar to put 'em 'round. Made a nice thing of it, have n't I?" And before any of the girls could catch him, he had bolted from the room, with one hand full of candy, the other of mince-pie, and his face shining with the triumphant glee of a small boy who has teased seven big girls and got the better of them.
What went on just after that is not recorded, though Phil peeped in at the windows, hooted through the slide, and beat a tattoo on the various doors. The opportune arrival of his mother sent him whooping down the street, and the distressed damsels finished their lunch with what appetite they could muster.
Edith won the prize, for her pie was pronounced a grand success, and partaken of so heartily that several young ladies had reason to think it well named "Nightmare" by the derisive Alfred. Emboldened by her success, Edith invited them all to her house on the next Saturday, and suggested that she and her cousin provide the luncheon, as they had some new dishes to offer, not down in the recipe-book they had been studying all winter.
As the ardor of the young cooks was somewhat dampened by various failures, and the discovery that good cooking is an art not easily learned, anything in the way of novelty was welcome; and the girls gladly accepted the invitation, feeling a sense of relief at the thought of not having any dish to worry about, though not one of them owned that she was tired of "mussing," as the disrespectful boys called it.
It was unanimously decided to wither with silent scorn the audacious Alfred and his ally, Rex, while Phil was to be snubbed by his sister till he had begged pardon for his share of the evil deed. Then, having sweetened their tongues and tempers with the delicious bonbons, the girls departed, feeling that the next lunch would be an event of unusual interest.
The idea of it originated in a dinner which Patty cooked one day when Nancy, who wanted a holiday, was unexpectedly called away to the funeral of a cousin,—the fifth relative who had died in a year, such was the mortality in the jovial old creature's family. Edith's mother was very busy with a dressmaker, and gladly accepted the offer the girls made to get dinner by themselves.
"No fancy dishes, if you please; the boys come in as hungry as hunters, and want a good solid meal; so have something wholesome and plain, and plenty of it," was the much-relieved lady's only suggestion, as she retired to the sewing-room and left the girls to keep house and prepare dinner in their own way.
"Now, Edie, you be the mistress and give your orders, and I 'll be cook. Only have things that go well together,—not all baked or all boiled, because there is n't room enough on the range, you know," said Patty, putting on a big apron with an air of great satisfaction; for she was fond of cooking, and was tired of doing nothing.
"I 'll watch all you do, and learn ; so that the next time Nancy goes off in a hurry, I can take her place, and not have to give the boys what they hate,— a 'picked-up dinner,'" answered Edith, pleased with her part, yet a little mortified to find how few plain dishes she could make well.
"What do the boys like?" asked Patty, longing to please them, for they all liked her and were very kind to her.
"Roast beef and custard pudding, with two or three kinds of vegetables. Can we do all that?"
"Yes, indeed. I 'll make the pudding right away, and have it baked before the meat goes in. I can cook as many vegetables as you please, and soup too."
So the order was given and all went well, if one might judge by the sounds of merriment in the kitchen. Patty made her best gingerbread, and cooked some apples with sugar and spice for tea, and at the stroke of two had a nice dinner smoking on the table, to the great contentment of the hungry boys, who did eat like hunters, and advised mamma to send old Nancy away and keep Patty for cook; which complimentary but rash proposal pleased their cousin very much.
"Now, this is useful cookery, and well done, though it looks so simple," said Edith's mother. "Any girl can learn how, and so be independent of servants if need be. Drop your class, Edith, and take a few lessons of Patty. That would suit me better than French affairs that are neither economical nor wholesome."
"I will, Mamma, for I 'm tired of creaming butter, larding things, and beating eggs. These dishes are not so elegant, but we must have them; so I may as well learn, if Patty will teach me."
"With pleasure, all I know," replied her cousin. "Mother thinks it a very important part of a girl's education, for if you can t keep servants, you can do your own work well, and even if you are rich you are not so dependent as is one who is of these things. All kinds of useful sewing housework come first with us and the accomplishments afterward, as time and money allow."
"That sort of thing turns out the kind of girl I like and so thinks every sensible fellow!" exclaimed Rex. "Good luck to you, Cousin, and my thanks for a capital dinner and a wise little for dessert."
Rex made his best bow as he left the table, and Patty colored high with pleasure at the praise the tall collegian.
Out of this, and the talk they had afterward, grew the lunch which Edith proposed, and to the preparation, of which went much thought and care; for the girls meant to have many samples of country fare so that various tastes might be pleased. The plan gradually grew as they worked and a little surprise was added which was a great success. When Saturday came, the younger boys were all packed off for a holiday in the country, that the coast might be clear.
"No hiding under sofas in my house, no meddling with my dinner, if you please gentlemen," said Edith, as she saw the small brothers safely off, and fell to work with Patty and the maid to arrange the dining-room to suit the feast about to be spread there
As antique furniture is the fashion nowadays, it was easy to collect all the old tables, chairs, china, and ornaments in the house, and make a pleasant place of the sunny room, where a tall clock always stood, and damask hangings a century old added much to the effect. A massive mahogany table was set forth with ancient silver, glass, china, and all sorts of queer old salt-cellars, pepper-pots, pickle-dishes, knives, and spoons. High-backed chairs stood around it, and the guests were received by a very pretty old lady in plumcolored satin, with a muslin pelerine, and a large lace cap very becoming to the rosy face it surrounded. A fat watch ticked in the wide belt, mitts covered the plump hands, and a reticule hung at the side. Madam's daughter, in a very short-waisted pink silk gown, muslin apron, and frill, was even prettier than her mother, for her dark, curly hair hung on her shoulders, and a little cap with long pink streamers was stuck on the top. Her mitts went to the elbow, and a pink sash was tied in a large bow behind. Black satin shoes covered her feet, and a necklace of gold beads was around her throat.
Great was the pleasure this little surprise gave the girls, and gay was the chatter that went on as they were welcomed by their hostesses, who constantly forgot their parts. Madam frisked now and then, and "pretty Peggy" was so anxious about dinner that she was not as devoted to her company as a well-bred young lady should be. But no one minded, and when the bell rang, all gathered about the table, eager to see what the feast was to be.
"Ladies, we have endeavored to give you a taste of some of the good old-style dishes rather out of fashion now," said Madam, standing at her place, with a napkin pinned over the purple dress, and a twinkle in the blue eyes under the wide cap-frills. "We thought it would be well to introduce some of them to the class and to our family cooks, who either scorn the plain dishes or don't know how to cook them well. There is a variety, and we hope all will find something to enjoy. Peggy, uncover, and let us begin."
At first the girls looked a little disappointed, for the dishes were not very new to them, but when they tasted a real "boiled dinner," and found how good it was; also baked beans, neither hard, greasy, nor burnt; beefsteak, tender, juicy, and well flavored; potatoes, mealy in spite of the season; Indian pudding, made as few modern cooks know how to make it; brown bread, with homemade butter; and pumpkin-pie that cut like wedges of vegetable gold,—they changed their minds, and began to eat with appetites that would have destroyed their reputations as delicate young ladies, if they had been seen. Tea in egg-shell cups, election-cake and cream-cheese, with fruit, ended the dinner; and as they sat admiring the tiny old spoons, the crisp cake, and the little cheeses like snow-balls, Edith said, in reply to various compliments paid her: "Let us give honor where honor is due. Patty suggested this, and did most of the cooking; so thank her, and borrow her recipe-book. It 's very funny, ever so old, copied and tried by her grandmother, and full of directions for making quantities of nice things, from pie like this to a safe, sure wash for the complexion. May-dew, rose-leaves, and lavender,—does n't that sound lovely?"
"Oh, let me copy it!" was the simultaneous request of Ella and May, who were afflicted with freckles, and Laura, who was sallow from overindulgence in coffee and confectionery.
"Yes, indeed. But I was about to say, as we have no prize to-day, we have prepared a little souvenir of our old-fashioned dinner for each of you. Bring them, Daughter; I hope the ladies will pardon the homeliness of the offering, and make use of the hint that accompanies each."
As Edith spoke, with a comical mingling of the merry girl and the stately old lady she was trying to personate, Patty brought from the sideboard, where it had stood in hiding, a silver salver, on which lay five dainty little loaves of bread. On the top of each loaf appeared a recipe for making it, nicely written on a colored card and held in place by a silver scarf-pin.
"How cunning!" "What lovely pins!" "I 'll take the hint and learn to make good bread at once." "It smells as sweet as a nut, and isn't hard or heavy anywhere!" "Such a pretty idea, and so clever of you to carry it out so well!"
These remarks went on as the little loaves went around, each girl finding her pin well suited to her pet fancy or foible; for all were different, and all very pretty, whether the design was a palette, a pen, a racquet, a fan, or a bar of music.
Seeing that her dinner was a success in spite of its homeliness, Edith added the last surprise, which had also been one to Patty and herself when it arrived, just in time to be carried out. She forgot to be Madam now, and said with a face full of mingled merriment and satisfaction, as she pushed her cap askew and pulled off her mitts:
"Girls, the best joke of all is that Rex and Alf sent the pins, and made Phil bring them, with a most humble apology for their impertinence last week. A meeker boy I never saw, and for that we may thank Floy; but I think the dinner Pat and I cooked the other day won Rex's heart, so that he made Alf eat humble pie in this agreeable manner. We 'll not say anything about it, but will all wear our pins, and show the boys that we can forgive and forget as 'sweet girls' should, though we do cook and have ideas of our own beyond looking pretty and minding our older brothers."
"We will!" cried the chorus with one voice, and Florence added: "I also propose that when we have learned to make something besides 'kickshaws,' as the boys call our fancy dishes, we have a dinner like this, and invite those rascals to it; which will be heaping coals of fire on their heads, and will put a stop for evermore to their making jokes about our cooking class."
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