|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 25
Betsy took the cooky, but went on with the conversation by exclaiming,
"HOW could ANY-body get along without matches? You HAVE to have
matches."
Aunt Abigail didn't answer at first. They were back in the kitchen now.
She was looking at the clock again. "See here," she said; "it's time I
began getting supper ready. We divide up on the work. Ann gets the
dinner and I get the supper. And everybody gets his own breakfast. Which
would you rather do, help Ann with the dinner, or me with the supper?"
Elizabeth Ann had not had the slightest idea of helping anybody with any
meal, but, confronted unexpectedly with the alternative offered, she
made up her mind so quickly that she didn't want to help Cousin Ann, and
declared so loudly, "Oh, help YOU with the supper!" that her promptness
made her sound quite hearty and willing. "Well, that's fine," said Aunt
Abigail. "We'll set the table now. But first you would better look at
that apple sauce. I hear it walloping away as though it was boiling too
fast. Maybe you'd better push it back where it won't cook so fast. There
are the holders, on that hook."
Elizabeth Ann approached the stove with the holder in her hand and
horror in her heart. Nobody had ever dreamed of asking her to handle hot
things. She looked around dismally at Aunt Abigail, but the old woman
was standing with her back turned, doing something at the kitchen table.
Very gingerly the little girl took hold of the handle of the saucepan,
and very gingerly she shoved it to the back of the stove. And then she
stood still a moment to admire herself. She could do that as well as
anybody!
"Why," said Aunt Abigail, as if remembering that Betsy had asked her a
question. "Any man could strike a spark from his flint and steel that he
had for his gun. And he'd keep striking it till it happened to fly out
in the right direction, and you'd catch it in some fluff where it would
start a smoulder, and you'd blow on it till you got a little flame, and
drop tiny bits of shaved-up dry pine in it, and so, little by little,
you'd build your fire up."
"But it must have taken forEVER to do that!"
"Oh, you didn't have to do that more than once in ever so long," said
Aunt Abigail, briskly. She interrupted her story to say: "Now you put
the silver around, while I cream the potatoes. It's in that drawer--a
knife, a fork, and two spoons for each place--and the plates and cups
are up there behind the glass doors. We're going to have hot cocoa again
tonight." And as the little girl, hypnotized by the other's casual,
offhand way of issuing instructions, began to fumble with the knives and
forks she went on: "Why, you'd start your fire that way, and then you'd
never let it go out. Everybody that amounted to anything knew how to
bank the hearth fire with ashes at night so it would be sure to last.
And the first thing in the morning, you got down on your knees and poked
the ashes away very carefully till you got to the hot coals. Then you'd
blow with the bellows and drop in pieces of dry pine--don't forget the
water-glasses--and you'd blow gently till they flared up and the
shavings caught, and there your fire would be kindled again. The napkins
are in the second drawer."
Betsy went on setting the table, deep in thought, reconstructing the old
life. As she put the napkins around she said, "But SOMETIMES it must
have gone out ..."
"Yes," said Aunt Abigail, "sometimes it went out, and then one of the
children was sent over to the nearest neighbor to borrow some fire. He'd
take a covered iron pan fastened on to a long hickory stick, and go
through the woods--everything was woods then--to the next house and wait
till they had their fire going and could spare him a pan full of coals;
and then--don't forget the salt and pepper--he would leg it home as fast
as he could streak it, to get there before the coals went out. Say,
Betsy, I think that apple sauce is ready to be sweetened. You do it,
will you? I've got my hands in the biscuit dough. The sugar's in the
left-hand drawer in the kitchen cabinet."
"Oh, MY!" cried Betsy, dismayed. "_I_ don't know how to cook!"
Aunt Abigail laughed and put back a strand of curly white hair with the
back of her floury hand. "You know how to stir sugar into your cup of
cocoa, don't you?"
"But how MUCH shall I put in?" asked Elizabeth Ann, clamoring for exact
instruction so she wouldn't need to do any thinking for herself.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|