Little Men: Life at Plumfield With Jo's Boys
“Do you hear anything?” asked Aunt Jo, catching Ted back by his little
frock as he was making straight for one side of the room.
Daisy did hear an odd crackling, and then a purry little sound as of a
kettle singing. These noises came from behind a curtain drawn before a
deep bay window. Daisy snatched it back, gave one joyful, “Oh!” and then
stood gazing with delight at what do you think?
A wide seat ran round the three sides of the window; on one side hung
and stood all sorts of little pots and pans, gridirons and skillets;
on the other side a small dinner and tea set; and on the middle part a
cooking-stove. Not a tin one, that was of no use, but a real iron stove,
big enough to cook for a large family of very hungry dolls. But the best
of it was that a real fire burned in it, real steam came out of the
nose of the little tea-kettle, and the lid of the little boiler actually
danced a jig, the water inside bubbled so hard. A pane of glass had
been taken out and replaced by a sheet of tin, with a hole for the small
funnel, and real smoke went sailing away outside so naturally, that it
did one's heart good to see it. The box of wood with a hod of charcoal
stood near by; just above hung dust-pan, brush and broom; a little
market basket was on the low table at which Daisy used to play, and over
the back of her little chair hung a white apron with a bib, and a droll
mob cap. The sun shone in as if he enjoyed the fun, the little stove
roared beautifully, the kettle steamed, the new tins sparkled on the
walls, the pretty china stood in tempting rows, and it was altogether as
cheery and complete a kitchen as any child could desire.
Daisy stood quite still after the first glad “Oh!” but her eyes went
quickly from one charming object to another, brightening as they looked,
till they came to Aunt Jo's merry face; there they stopped as the happy
little girl hugged her, saying gratefully:
“Oh aunty, it's a splendid new play! Can I really cook at the dear
stove, and have parties and mess, and sweep, and make fires that truly
burn? I like it so much! What made you think of it?”
“Your liking to make gingersnaps with Asia made me think of it,” said
Mrs. Bhaer, holding Daisy, who frisked as if she would fly. “I knew Asia
wouldn't let you mess in her kitchen very often, and it wouldn't be
safe at this fire up here, so I thought I'd see if I could find a little
stove for you, and teach you to cook; that would be fun, and useful too.
So I travelled round among the toy shops, but everything large cost too
much and I was thinking I should have to give it up, when I met Uncle
Teddy. As soon as he knew what I was about, he said he wanted to help,
and insisted on buying the biggest toy stove we could find. I scolded,
but he only laughed, and teased me about my cooking when we were young,
and said I must teach Bess as well as you, and went on buying all sorts
of nice little things for my 'cooking class' as he called it.”
“I'm so glad you met him!” said Daisy, as Mrs. Jo stopped to laugh at
the memory of the funny time she had with Uncle Teddy.
“You must study hard and learn to make all kinds of things, for he says
he shall come out to tea very often, and expects something uncommonly
nice.”
“It's the sweetest, dearest kitchen in the world, and I'd rather
study with it than do anything else. Can't I learn pies, and cake, and
macaroni, and everything?” cried Daisy, dancing round the room with a
new saucepan in one hand and the tiny poker in the other.
“All in good time. This is to be a useful play, I am to help you, and
you are to be my cook, so I shall tell you what to do, and show you how.
Then we shall have things fit to eat, and you will be really learning
how to cook on a small scale. I'll call you Sally, and say you are a new
girl just come,” added Mrs. Jo, settling down to work, while Teddy sat
on the floor sucking his thumb, and staring at the stove as if it was a
live thing, whose appearance deeply interested him.
“That will be so lovely! What shall I do first?” asked Sally, with such
a happy face and willing air that Aunt Jo wished all new cooks were half
as pretty and pleasant.
“First of all, put on this clean cap and apron. I am rather
old-fashioned, and I like my cook to be very tidy.”
Sally tucked her curly hair into the round cap, and put on the apron
without a murmur, though usually she rebelled against bibs.
“Now, you can put things in order, and wash up the new china. The old
set needs washing also, for my last girl was apt to leave it in a sad
state after a party.”
Aunt Jo spoke quite soberly, but Sally laughed, for she knew who the
untidy girl was who had left the cups sticky. Then she turned up her
cuffs, and with a sigh of satisfaction began to stir about her kitchen,
having little raptures now and then over the “sweet rolling pin,” the
“darling dish-tub,” or the “cunning pepper-pot.”
“Now, Sally, take your basket and go to market; here is the list of
things I want for dinner,” said Mrs. Jo, giving her a bit of paper when
the dishes were all in order.
“Where is the market?” asked Daisy, thinking that the new play got more
and more interesting every minute.
“Asia is the market.”
Away went Sally, causing another stir in the schoolroom as she passed
the door in her new costume, and whispered to Demi, with a face full of
delight, “It's a perfectly splendid play!”
Old Asia enjoyed the joke as much as Daisy, and laughed jollily as the
little girl came flying into the room with her cap all on one side, the
lids of her basket rattling like castanets and looking like a very crazy
little cook.
“Mrs. Aunt Jo wants these things, and I must have them right away,” said
Daisy, importantly.
“Let's see, honey; here's two pounds of steak, potatoes, squash, apples,
bread, and butter. The meat ain't come yet; when it does I'll send it
up. The other things are all handy.”
Then Asia packed one potato, one apple, a bit of squash, a little pat
of butter, and a roll, into the basket, telling Sally to be on the watch
for the butcher's boy, because he sometimes played tricks.
“Who is he?” and Daisy hoped it would be Demi.
“You'll see,” was all Asia would say; and Sally went off in great
spirits, singing a verse from dear Mary Howitt's sweet story in rhyme:
“Away went little Mabel,
With the wheaten cake so fine,
The new-made pot of butter,
And the little flask of wine.”
“Put everything but the apple into the store-closet for the present,”
said Mrs. Jo, when the cook got home.
There was a cupboard under the middle shelf, and on opening the door
fresh delights appeared. One half was evidently the cellar, for wood,
coal, and kindlings were piled there. The other half was full of little
jars, boxes, and all sorts of droll contrivances for holding small
quantities of flour, meal, sugar, salt, and other household stores. A
pot of jam was there, a little tin box of gingerbread, a cologne bottle
full of currant wine, and a tiny canister of tea. But the crowning charm
was two doll's pans of new milk, with cream actually rising on it, and
a wee skimmer all ready to skim it with. Daisy clasped her hands at
this delicious spectacle, and wanted to skim it immediately. But Aunt Jo
said:
“Not yet; you will want the cream to eat on your apple pie at dinner,
and must not disturb it till then.”
“Am I going to have pie?” cried Daisy, hardly believing that such bliss
could be in store for her.
“Yes; if your oven does well we will have two pies, one apple and one
strawberry,” said Mrs. Jo, who was nearly as much interested in the new
play as Daisy herself.
“Oh, what next?” asked Sally, all impatience to begin.
“Shut the lower draught of the stove, so that the oven may heat.
Then wash your hands and get out the flour, sugar, salt, butter, and
cinnamon. See if the pie-board is clean, and pare your apple ready to
put in.”
Daisy got things together with as little noise and spilling as could be
expected, from so young a cook.
“I really don't know how to measure for such tiny pies; I must guess
at it, and if these don't succeed, we must try again,” said Mrs. Jo,
looking rather perplexed, and very much amused with the small concern
before her. “Take that little pan full of flour, put in a pinch of salt,
and then rub in as much butter as will go on that plate. Always remember
to put your dry things together first, and then the wet. It mixes better
so.”
“I know how; I saw Asia do it. Don't I butter the pie plates too? She
did, the first thing,” said Daisy, whisking the flour about at a great
rate.
“Quite right! I do believe you have a gift for cooking, you take to it
so cleverly,” said Aunt Jo, approvingly. “Now a dash of cold water,
just enough to wet it; then scatter some flour on the board, work in
a little, and roll the paste out; yes, that's the way. Now put dabs of
butter all over it, and roll it out again. We won't have our pastry very
rich, or the dolls will get dyspeptic.”
Daisy laughed at the idea, and scattered the dabs with a liberal hand.
Then she rolled and rolled with her delightful little pin, and having
got her paste ready proceeded to cover the plates with it. Next the
apple was sliced in, sugar and cinnamon lavishly sprinkled over it, and
then the top crust put on with breathless care.
“I always wanted to cut them round, and Asia never would let me. How
nice it is to do it all my ownty donty self!” said Daisy, as the little
knife went clipping round the doll's plate poised on her hand.
All cooks, even the best, meet with mishaps sometimes, and Sally's first
one occurred then, for the knife went so fast that the plate slipped,
turned a somersault in the air, and landed the dear little pie upside
down on the floor. Sally screamed, Mrs. Jo laughed, Teddy scrambled to
get it, and for a moment confusion reigned in the new kitchen.
“It didn't spill or break, because I pinched the edges together so hard;
it isn't hurt a bit, so I'll prick holes in it, and then it will be
ready,” said Sally, picking up the capsized treasure and putting it into
shape with a child-like disregard of the dust it had gathered in its
fall.
“My new cook has a good temper, I see, and that is such a comfort,” said
Mrs. Jo. “Now open the jar of strawberry jam, fill the uncovered pie,
and put some strips of paste over the top as Asia does.”
“I'll make a D in the middle, and have zigzags all round, that will be
so interesting when I come to eat it,” said Sally, loading the pie with
quirls and flourishes that would have driven a real pastry cook wild.
“Now I put them in!” she exclaimed; when the last grimy knob had been
carefully planted in the red field of jam, and with an air of triumph
she shut them into the little oven.
“Clear up your things; a good cook never lets her utensils collect. Then
pare your squash and potatoes.”
“There is only one potato,” giggled Sally.
“Cut it in four pieces, so it will go into the little kettle, and put
the bits into cold water till it is time to cook them.”
“Do I soak the squash too?”
“No, indeed! Just pare it and cut it up, and put in into the steamer
over the pot. It is drier so, though it takes longer to cook.”
Here a scratching at the door caused Sally to run and open it, when Kit
appeared with a covered basket in his mouth.
“Here's the butcher boy!” cried Daisy, much tickled at the idea, as she
relieved him of his load, whereat he licked his lips and began to beg,
evidently thinking that it was his own dinner, for he often carried it
to his master in that way. Being undeceived, he departed in great wrath
and barked all the way downstairs, to ease his wounded feelings.
In the basket were two bits of steak (doll's pounds), a baked pear, a
small cake, and paper with them on which Asia had scrawled, “For Missy's