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Eighth Day: Rose

When Rose had finished the veal loaf and packed it in the pan, ready to go into the oven when Ellen's bread should come out, she set about trying a new recipe.

No. 107-GRANDMA'S SHORT-CAKE.

One pound sifted flour, dried in the oven for a few minutes, but not browned, a quarter of a pound butter, a heaping tablespoonful lard, a salt-spoonful salt, a pinch of soda dissolved in just enough vinegar to cover it and well worked in. Put together with ice-water, and roll out half an inch thick. Cut into squares, prick with a fork and bake light brown. "How can any one tell how much a pinch is, Aunt Jane?" asked Rose. "Is it about as much as when you take a pinch of anybody's arm?" "Oh, no," said her aunt, laughing, "a pinch is just about so much," showing her by taking up some soda between her finger and thumb. "A pinch is a pinch, that's all. A cook gets to feel those things after a while. There's a sort of instinct about it." "Now the salad dressing is done, aunty," said Mabel. "What shall I do with it?" "Ask Ellen for a funnel, and we'll pour it into this bottle and cork it tightly. We musn't forget to take along a small bottle of vinegar, too, for some people, especially children, don't like so large a proportion of oil." "May I make the biscuit now?" asked Edith, when her loaf-cake was kneaded into loaves and set to rise in the pan. "Better wait until the bread comes out. The gingerbread is in already, and we must leave a place for Grace's pies. Your biscuits will contain soda, you know, and so musn't stand a moment after they are mixed before they go into the oven. I wonder what keeps Grace so long at her pies; it seems as if they ought to be ready by this time."

It was not long before Grace came in, a pie carefully balanced on the palm of each hand. A glance at their extremely ornate appearance explained the delay. In the middle of one she had made not a bad imitation of a rose, whose paste leaves stood out quite naturally; around this was a series of rings laid over one another like shingles, producing a very pretty effect, and round the edge was a border made of long strips interlaced so as to make a sort of braid. The other was bordered with a series of little buttons, touching one another; inside of this was a circle of leaves quite neatly made, with a slender vine connecting the ends, and in the center in fat letters and figures was the date, "July 4, 1876." "Why, Grace, what a pie-ist you are!" exclaimed her brother Rob, who had stolen in to take a peep at the doings of the busy bees. "You're the Great Champion American Ornamental Pie Constructor, and no mistake. That pie's too fine to eat; let's send it to the Centennial." "You may send your piece there if you like, Rob," said his aunt, "but the rest of us would prefer to eat ours ourselves. Now, Edith, Ellen says it is safe for you to make your biscuit, and when that comes out, our work will be done for to-day."