Little Men: Life at Plumfield With Jo's Boys
lunch, if her cookin' don't turn out well.”
“I don't want any of her old pears and things; my cooking will turn out
well, and I'll have a splendid dinner; see if I don't!” cried Daisy,
indignantly.
“We may like them if company should come. It is always well to have
something in the storeroom,” said Aunt Jo, who had been taught this
valuable fact by a series of domestic panics.
“Me is hundry,” announced Teddy, who began to think what with so much
cooking going on it was about time for somebody to eat something. His
mother gave him her workbasket to rummage, hoping to keep him quiet till
dinner was ready, and returned to her housekeeping.
“Put on your vegetables, set the table, and then have some coals
kindling ready for the steak.”
What a thing it was to see the potatoes bobbing about in the little pot;
to peep at the squash getting soft so fast in the tiny steamer; to whisk
open the oven door every five minutes to see how the pies got on, and
at last when the coals were red and glowing, to put two real steaks on
a finger-long gridiron and proudly turn them with a fork. The potatoes
were done first, and no wonder, for they had boiled frantically all the
while. The were pounded up with a little pestle, had much butter and no
salt put in (cook forgot it in the excitement of the moment), then it
was made into a mound in a gay red dish, smoothed over with a knife
dipped in milk, and put in the oven to brown.
So absorbed in these last performances had Sally been, that she forgot
her pastry till she opened the door to put in the potato, then a wail
arose, for alas! alas! the little pies were burnt black!
“Oh, my pies! My darling pies! They are all spoilt!” cried poor Sally,
wringing her dirty little hands as she surveyed the ruin of her work.
The tart was especially pathetic, for the quirls and zigzags stuck up in
all directions from the blackened jelly, like the walls and chimney of a
house after a fire.
“Dear, dear, I forgot to remind you to take them out; it's just my
luck,” said Aunt Jo, remorsefully. “Don't cry, darling, it was my fault;
we'll try again after dinner,” she added, as a great tear dropped from
Sally's eyes and sizzled on the hot ruins of the tart.
More would have followed, if the steak had not blazed up just then,
and so occupied the attention of cook, that she quickly forgot the lost
pastry.
“Put the meat-dish and your own plates down to warm, while you mash the
squash with butter, salt, and a little pepper on the top,” said Mrs. Jo,
devoutly hoping that the dinner would meet with no further disasters.
The “cunning pepper-pot” soothed Sally's feelings, and she dished up her
squash in fine style. The dinner was safely put upon the table; the six
dolls were seated three on a side; Teddy took the bottom, and Sally the
top. When all were settled, it was a most imposing spectacle, for one
doll was in full ball costume, another in her night-gown; Jerry, the
worsted boy, wore his red winter suit, while Annabella, the noseless
darling, was airily attired in nothing but her own kid skin. Teddy, as
father of the family, behaved with great propriety, for he smilingly
devoured everything offered him, and did not find a single fault. Daisy
beamed upon her company like the weary, warm, but hospitable hostess so
often to be seen at larger tables than this, and did the honors with an
air of innocent satisfaction, which we do not often see elsewhere.
The steak was so tough that the little carving-knife would not cut it;
the potato did not go round, and the squash was very lumpy; but the
guests appeared politely unconscious of these trifles; and the master
and mistress of the house cleared the table with appetites that anyone
might envy them. The joy of skimming a jug-full of cream mitigated the
anguish felt for the loss of the pies, and Asia's despised cake proved a
treasure in the way of dessert.
“That is the nicest lunch I ever had; can't I do it every day?” asked
Daisy as she scraped up and ate the leavings all round.
“You can cook things every day after lessons, but I prefer that you
should eat your dishes at your regular meals, and only have a bit of
gingerbread for lunch. To-day, being the first time, I don't mind, but
we must keep our rules. This afternoon you can make something for tea
if you like,” said Mrs. Jo, who had enjoyed the dinner-party very much,
though no one had invited her to partake.
“Do let me make flapjacks for Demi, he loves them so, and it's such fun
to turn them and put sugar in between,” cried Daisy, tenderly wiping a
yellow stain off Annabella's broken nose, for Bella had refused to eat
squash when it was pressed upon her as good for “lumatism,” a complaint
which it is no wonder she suffered from, considering the lightness of
her attire.
“But if you give Demi goodies, all the others will expect some also, and
then you will have your hands full.”
“Couldn't I have Demi come up to tea alone just this one time? And after
that I could cook things for the others if they were good,” proposed
Daisy, with a sudden inspiration.
“That is a capital idea, Posy! We will make your little messes rewards
for the good boys, and I don't know one among them who would not like
something nice to eat more than almost anything else. If little men are
like big ones, good cooking will touch their hearts and soothe their
tempers delightfully,” added Aunt Jo, with a merry nod toward the
door, where stood Papa Bhaer, surveying the scene with a face full of
amusement.
“That last hit was for me, sharp woman. I accept it, for it is true; but
if I had married thee for thy cooking, heart's dearest, I should have
fared badly all these years,” answered the professor, laughing as he
tossed Teddy, who became quite apoplectic in his endeavors to describe
the feast he had just enjoyed.
Daisy proudly showed her kitchen, and rashly promised Uncle Fritz as
many flapjacks as he could eat. She was just telling about the new
rewards when the boys, headed by Demi, burst into the room snuffing the
air like a pack of hungry hounds, for school was out, dinner was not
ready, and the fragrance of Daisy's steak led them straight to the spot.
A prouder little damsel was never seen than Sally as she displayed her
treasures and told the lads what was in store for them. Several rather
scoffed at the idea of her cooking anything fit to eat, but Stuffy's
heart was won at once. Nat and Demi had firm faith in her skill, and the
others said they would wait and see. All admired the kitchen, however,
and examined the stove with deep interest. Demi offered to buy
the boiler on the spot, to be used in a steam-engine which he was
constructing; and Ned declared that the best and biggest saucepan was
just the thing to melt his lead in when he ran bullets, hatchets, and
such trifles.
Daisy looked so alarmed at these proposals, that Mrs. Jo then and
there made and proclaimed a law that no boy should touch, use, or
even approach the sacred stove without a special permit from the
owner thereof. This increased its value immensely in the eyes of the
gentlemen, especially as any infringement of the law would be punished
by forfeiture of all right to partake of the delicacies promised to the
virtuous.
At this point the bell rang, and the entire population went down to
dinner, which meal was enlivened by each of the boys giving Daisy a
list of things he would like to have cooked for him as fast as he
earned them. Daisy, whose faith in her stove was unlimited, promised
everything, if Aunt Jo would tell her how to make them. This suggestion
rather alarmed Mrs. Jo, for some of the dishes were quite beyond her
skill wedding-cake, for instance, bull's-eye candy; and cabbage soup
with herrings and cherries in it, which Mr. Bhaer proposed as his
favorite, and immediately reduced his wife to despair, for German
cookery was beyond her.
Daisy wanted to begin again the minute dinner was done, but she was only
allowed to clear up, fill the kettle ready for tea, and wash out her
apron, which looked as if she had a Christmas feast. She was then sent
out to play till five o'clock, for Uncle Fritz said that too much study,
even at cooking stoves, was bad for little minds and bodies, and Aunt Jo
knew by long experience how soon new toys lose their charm if they are
not prudently used.
Everyone was very kind to Daisy that afternoon. Tommy promised her the
first fruits of his garden, though the only visible crop just then was
pigweed; Nat offered to supply her with wood, free of charge; Stuffy
quite worshipped her; Ned immediately fell to work on a little
refrigerator for her kitchen; and Demi, with a punctuality beautiful
to see in one so young, escorted her to the nursery just as the clock
struck five. It was not time for the party to begin, but he begged so
hard to come in and help that he was allowed privileges few visitors
enjoy, for he kindled the fire, ran errands, and watched the progress
of his supper with intense interest. Mrs. Jo directed the affair as she
came and went, being very busy putting up clean curtains all over the
house.
“Ask Asia for a cup of sour cream, then your cakes will be light without
much soda, which I don't like,” was the first order.
Demi tore downstairs, and returned with the cream, also a puckered-up
face, for he had tasted it on his way, and found it so sour that he
predicted the cakes would be uneatable. Mrs. Jo took this occasion to
deliver a short lecture from the step-ladder on the chemical properties
of soda, to which Daisy did not listen, but Demi did, and understood it,
as he proved by the brief but comprehensive reply:
“Yes, I see, soda turns sour things sweet, and the fizzling up makes
them light. Let's see you do it, Daisy.”
“Fill that bowl nearly full of flour and add a little salt to it,”
continued Mrs. Jo.
“Oh dear, everything has to have salt in it, seems to me,” said Sally,
who was tired of opening the pill-box in which it was kept.
“Salt is like good-humor, and nearly every thing is better for a pinch
of it, Posy,” and Uncle Fritz stopped as he passed, hammer in hand, to
drive up two or three nails for Sally's little pans to hang on.
“You are not invited to tea, but I'll give you some cakes, and I won't
be cross,” said Daisy, putting up her floury little face to thank him
with a kiss.
“Fritz, you must not interrupt my cooking class, or I'll come in and
moralize when you are teaching Latin. How would you like that?” said
Mrs. Jo, throwing a great chintz curtain down on his head.
“Very much, try it and see,” and the amiable Father Bhaer went singing
and tapping about the house like a mammoth woodpecker.
“Put the soda into the cream, and when it 'fizzles,' as Demi says, stir
it into the flour, and beat it up as hard as ever you can. Have your
griddle hot, butter it well, and then fry away till I come back,” and
Aunt Jo vanished also.
Such a clatter as the little spoon made, and such a beating as the
batter got, it quite foamed, I assure you; and when Daisy poured some
on to the griddle, it rose like magic into a puffy flapjack that made
Demi's mouth water. To be sure, the first one stuck and scorched,
because she forgot the butter, but after that first failure all went
well, and six capital little cakes were safely landed in a dish.
“I think I like maple-syrup better than sugar,” said Demi, from his
arm-chair where he had settled himself after setting the table in a new
and peculiar manner.
“Then go and ask Asia for some,” answered Daisy, going into the
bath-room to wash her hands.
While the nursery was empty something dreadful happened. You see, Kit
had been feeling hurt all day because he had carried meat safely and yet
got none to pay him. He was not a bad dog, but he had his little faults