Chapter 3
Section number three of Holiday Stories for Young People. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Whitney Page. Holiday Stories for Young People.
A fair white loaf. It's very well, said Miss Clem Downing, Marjorie's sister, For you little housekeepers to make cakes and creams, anybody can do that. But you'll never be housekeepers in earnest, little or big, my dears, till you can make good, eatable bread. Bread, said Mr. Pierce to Amy, is the crowning test of housewifery.
A lady is a loaf giver, don't you know? When Jeannie shall present me with a perfect loaf of bread, I'll present her with a five dollar gold piece. said Jeannie's father. I don't want Viva meddling in the kitchen, observed Mrs. Fay with emphasis. The maids are vexatious enough and the cook cross enough as it is. If ever Viva learns bread making, it must be outside of this house. Don't bother me, daughter, said Mrs. Partridge, looking up from the
cup she was painting. It will be time for you to learn bread making when the bakers shut their shops. As for the writer of this story, her mother's way had been to teach her bread making when she was just tall enough to have a tiny molding board on a chair, but Millie did not feel qualified to take hold of a regular cooking class. It was the same with Linda Curtis. Grandmama suggested our having a teacher and paying her for her trouble. Miss Muffet, said Viva. Miss Muffet,
we all exclaimed. And then, said Jeannie, our money will enable her to buy the winter cloak she is so much in need of, and she will not feel as if she were accepting charity, because she will earn the money if she teaches us. Indeed, she will, exclaimed Viva. I know beforehand that she will have one fearfully stupid pupil, and that is Viva Faye. Breakfast was no sooner over next morning, and Grandmama dressed and settled in comfort, then away we flew to our friend.
We means Linda and myself. She is my nearest neighbor and we often act for the club. Miss Muffet lived by herself in a bit of a house, her only companions being a very deaf sister and a very noisy parrot. Pasil, oh girls, pasil, oh girls, screamed the parrot
as we lifted the latch and walked up the little bricked pathway bordered with lady slippers and princess feather to the porch, which was half hidden by Clematis. Miss Muppet was known to every man, woman, and child in Bloomdale. She was sent for on every occasion, and at weddings, christenings, and funerals, when there was more work than usual to be done, the little brisk woman, so quiet and so capable,
was always on hand. She could do a little of everything, from seating Tommy's trousers, to setting patches in Ellen's sleeves, from making lambricans and table scarves to laundering lace curtains and upholstering furniture. As for cooking, preserving, and canning, she was celebrated for miles around and beyond our township. Would Miss Muffet undertake to show a few girls how to make bread and rolls and biscuit and Sally Lunn
and have patience with them till they were perfect little housekeepers so far as bread was concerned? It was some little time before we could make Miss Muffet understand our plan and persuade her to let us pay for our lesson. But when she did understand, she entered into the plan with enthusiasm. La me! What a clever notion, to be sure! Sister Jane, poor dear, would approve of it highly if she weren't so deaf.
Begin today? Well, well. You don't want the grass to grow under your feet, do you? All right, I'll be at your house, Millie, at six o'clock this evening to give the first lesson. Have the girls there if you can. It's as easy to teach a dozen as one. Millie, said Linda, the club ought to have a uniform and badges. I don't think a club is complete that hasn't a badge.
We all have white aprons, I said. Yes, ordinary aprons, but not great kitchen aprons to cover us up from head to foot. Well, if the club adopts the plan, it will not be hard to make such aprons. We must certainly have caps, and those should be thought of at once. Grandmama was always my resort when I was at my wit's end, and so I went to her with a question.
Had she anything which would do for our caps? There must be something in my lower left-hand wardrobe drawer, said Grandmama, considering. Thee may bring me a green bag, which thee will see in the far corner, and then we will talk about those caps in earnest. That wonderful green bag proved a sort of fairy find.
There were remnants of mull, swiss, jaconette, and other fabrics, white, plain, and barred. Grandmama cut us a pattern. At four, the seven girls were assembled in her room, genie on a hassock at our feet, the remainder grouped as they chose. how our fingers flew. It was just a quarter to six when every cap was finished, and each girl
had decided upon her special color. We hadn't the ribbon to make our bows, and were obliged to wait till somebody should go to the city to procure it, but each girl knew her favorite color, and that was a comfort. Linda Curtis chose blue, and I would wear rose tints. My parents did not insist on my wearing Quaker gray, and I dressed like the world's people. Viva chose old gold, and each of the others had a preference. You will look like a field of daisies and clover,
dearies, said Grandmama. There, cried Jeannie, why not have a four-leaved clover as our badge? There isn't anything prettier. The four-leaved clover carried the day, though one or two did speak for the daisy, the maiden hair fern, and the pussy willow. All this was before the subject of the national flower had been agitated. Where are my pupils? Miss Muffet appeared promptly at the hour and wore a most business-like air as she began her instructions. Compressed yeast has found
its way to Bloomdale, my dears, she said, so that I shall not have to begin by telling you how to make yeast. That useful lesson may wait till another day. Before we do anything, I will give you some rules for good family bread, and you may write them down if you please. One, always sift your flour thoroughly. Seven pencils wrote that rule in seven notebooks. Two, mix the dough as soft as it can be handled. You must never have it too stiff. Three, set it to rise in a moderately
warm place. Four, you cannot knead bread too much. The more it is kneaded, the firmer, sweeter, and lighter it will be. When we had written this down, Miss Muffet remarked, Mrs. Deacon Eads bread always takes the prize at the county fair. It looks like pound cake. I don't want you girls to make flabby, porous bread full of air holes. I want you to learn how to knead it till it is just like an India rubber cushion. If the dough is soft, won't it stick to our fingers? said Marjorie
with a dainty little shiver. Powder your hands very lightly with flour. That will keep the dough from sticking, said Miss Muffet, and you will gain a knack after a while. Five. The oven must be steadily hot, but not too quick for bread. Hold your hand in it while you count thirty, and it will be right for putting in your bread. Six, grease your pans. Seven, when taking bread from the oven, loosen the loaves from the pans, stand them upright, and let them lean against something
to keep them in that position. Cover them lightly with a cloth. Eight, do not pull them away until they are cold. We all gathered about the table, but were disappointed that there was nothing for us to do except look on. She took two quarts of flour and sifted it thoroughly into a large wooden bowl. In one pint of tepid water, she dissolved a half tablespoonful of salt and half a yeast cake. Pouring this into a hollow in the middle of the flour, she gradually drew the flour into it from
all sides, working it with swift light touches until it was a compact mask. She pounced and pulled and beat this till it was as smooth and round as a ball, dusted a little flour over it, covered it with a thick cloth, and set it aside. That is all that can be done tonight, girls, she said. Be here every one of you at six in the morning, if Millie can be up so early. The bread will be ready then for another kneading. You must not overlook the fact, girls, that bread is not
accommodating. It has to be attended to when the proper time comes, whether it is convenient for the maker or not. If neglected, it will be too light or else heavy. Bread which is too light has a sour taste and is just as unpalatable as that which is heavy. Uh, not raised enough, I mean. In the morning, our bread had risen to the top of the bowl and had cracks running in a crisscross manner over its surface. Miss Muffet was the first one to appear on the scene. She gave us a lesson
in kneading, such patting and pounding, throwing over, tossing back and forth, as she gave that poor dough. But the dough must have enjoyed it, for it seemed to grow lighter every minute. After a full twenty minutes of this process, the bread was set near the fire for a second rising. A half hour passed. Miss Muppet took it in hand again, and again she pounced and patted, beat and pounded the helpless mass, this time dividing it into three small loaves,
which she sat near the fire for the final rising. Bread is nicer made in little loaves, she told us, more convenient for use on the table, easier to bake, and less likely to become dry. And now, let me give you a receipt for Ingleside waffles. Mother considers these very good, and so do we girls who have tried them.
Make one pint of Indian meal into mush the usual way, which is by stirring the meal into boiling water and letting it boil until it is thick. While hot, put in a small lump of butter and a dessert spoonful of salt. Set the mush aside to cool. Beat separately the whites and yolks of four eggs until very light. Add the eggs to the mush and cream in by degrees one quart of wheat flour.
Add half a pint of buttermilk or sour cream, in which you have dissolved a half teaspoonful of bicarbonate of soda. Add sweet milk, enough to make a thin batter. Have the waffle irons hot. They should be heated in advance, not to keep the batter waiting. Butter them thoroughly and half fill them with the batter. Bake over a quick fire.
I never eat waffles without thinking of a pleasant home where two girls and a boy who read this paper have good times every summer. They often go out on the bay for an afternoon sail and come home in the rosy sunset in time for waffles. Waffles with sugar and cream are a very nice addition to a supper table. Another receipt of Mrs. Muffet's. Delicious corn muffins.
1 pint of cornmeal sifted, 1 egg, 1 pint of sweet milk, a teaspoonful of butter, and half a teaspoonful of salt. Pour this mixture into muffin rings and bake in a very quick oven. This receipt is one that Mother sometimes uses on a cold winter evening when she has nothing else hot for supper. They are great favorites in our household. End of section number 3.
