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Introduction: Grace

The book was quickly brought, and Grace wrote down from her aunt's dictation, as follows:

No. 1. SUSAN'S CAKE.

Three cups flour, two of sugar, two-thirds of a cup of butter, one cup of sour milk, three eggs, one teaspoonful soda, two of cream tartar. Two cups seeded raisins, or one of well-washed currants, added, makes a delicious fruit cake.

No. 2.-BAKED CUSTARD.

One quart milk, six eggs-omitting two whites-(five will do when they are scarce, and omit one white)-six tablespoonfuls granulated sugar, flavoring to taste. Bake in small cups.

No. 3.-POPOVERS.

One cup flour, one of milk, one egg, a piece of butter the size of a walnut, a pinch of salt. Bake in gem pans. "What a funny name, Aunty-popovers!" exclaimed Mabel, when Grace had finished writing. "Perhaps you call them muffins here," replied her aunt, "but I like the old-fashioned name. At all events, I know they are very good." "Why do you call it Susan's cake, Aunt Jane?" asked Grace. "Because our old German cook, Susan, showed me how to make it," said Mrs. King (by the way, Mrs. King was Aunt Jane's company name,) "and I never happened to meet with it anywhere else." "What next, Aunty?" "That will be enough for to-day. We will try all those, and if they do well you shall have some more next time. Now let us go down to the kitchen."

Rhoda, the black cook, looked with some suspicion on the small army invading her precincts, but she knew by experience that the children were well-behaved and respectful, never giving unnecessary trouble or returning saucy answers if checked; so she made up her mind to bear the infliction with a good grace. "You shall make the cake, Grace, and Amy the custard," said Aunt Jane. "Mabel may help you with these, now, and she and I will come again, just before tea, and attend to the popovers. Now begin by collecting what is named in your recipes."

Every thing was soon neatly arranged on the large kitchen table, and Aunt Jane began her instructions. She told the girls to break the eggs with yolks and whites separate for the cake, together for the custard, and showed them how to do it neatly without mingling the two.

Those for the cake were to be beaten first, so as to use the same dishes for both, and not soil a second set. Each egg was to be broken by itself into a cup first, before going to join its companions in the dish, as a single one carelessly thrown in when not perfectly fresh, might spoil the entire mixture. This is a rule it is never safe for the most skillful cook to neglect. "But what shall we do with the two extra whites that are left from the custard, Aunty?" asked Mabel. "Rhoda will save them to clear the coffee with," replied Mrs. King. "But if there were more we could easily use them in our cooking, for many nice things are made with the whites alone."

When the eggs were beaten, one part to a yellow cream and the other to a stiff white froth, the sugar and butter were rubbed together, little by little, with a strong spoon. Then the yolk of egg was added and stirred until the whole was perfectly smooth. The cream tartar was thrown into the flour, ready to be passed through the sieve, and then Aunt Jane told Grace to take a quarter cup of warm water (not boiling) to dissolve her soda in. "Some people throw the soda directly into the sour milk," said she, "but it is a poor way, and accounts for the unpleasant little lumps of alkali we sometimes find in cake and biscuit. Mabel, while Gracie is putting her cake together, you may butter and warm the cake-tins, otherwise she would have to wait and do that first, for the cake musn't stand a minute longer than is necessary after the soda is once in."

Then the whites of eggs were stirred in, all but the liquid remainder which had settled, and which was well beaten before being added, and the water containing the soda was carefully poured off into the sour milk, leaving the sediment in the bottom of the cup. The milk bubbled and foamed, as much as to protest against such doings, and would soon have overrun its bounds altogether, but that just at the critical moment it was tumbled into the rest of the mixture, a beautiful cataract of white foam. "It's for your own good, you know," said Grace, addressing it. "It's to make you sweet." All else being ready, the flour was now sifted in, Grace stirring vigorously all the while. When the whole was smoothly mixed, the little tins were filled rather less than half full, and all set into the large dripping-pan to bake. "Anything so delicate as this might be injured by not being taken out the moment it was done," said Aunt Jane, "so the best way is to do it all at once; besides which, it saves trouble."

In the meantime, Amy had prepared her custard, except the flavoring. "What kind shall I put in, mamma?" said she. "Suppose we try some bitter almond to-day," answered her mother. "Nothing can be more delicious to those who like it, and I see your Aunt Nelly does, or she wouldn't have this great bottle of it in the pantry. One teaspoonful will do if it is as strong as it ought to be, and if we find it not enough, we can add more next time. It is always better to put too little of any flavoring or spice than too much."

Another dripping-pan was brought and half filled with boiling water, which was ready in the teakettle, that the China cups might not be burnt. These were then filled to within a quarter of an inch of the top, set into the pan of hot water, and the whole placed in the oven. "Your recipe doesn't say how long we must bake these things," said Grace. "There is very little use in giving any exact direction about that," answered her aunt. "Stoves vary so much that half an hour in one means the same as three quarters in another. I think this one will bake the cake in half an hour, and the custard in somewhat less, but we must watch them. There is no absolute rule but experience." Aunt Jane was right, and everything was done to a turn, just as she predicted. When the cakes were taken out they were placed on the sieve for a short time to cool. A little nutmeg-very little-was grated over the top of each custard, and all were set away in the dark pantry, out of the reach of flies and dust. About three-quarters of an hour before tea-time, Mrs. King showed Mabel, as she had promised, how to make the popovers. "I think we shall have to double this recipe," said she, "for it makes only twelve, and as we are eight at our table, with the boys, and shall want to leave some for Rhoda and the rest, we'll take two eggs, and so on." Then Aunt Jane told Mabel that the great point was to have her mixture perfectly smooth and without lumps, which would be done only by adding the milk very slowly to the flour, stirring constantly. The eggs, beaten together without separating yolks and whites, went in last of all. Then half of the little straight-sided tins, buttered first, of course, and warmed, were filled less than half full, and pop they went into the oven. "They ought to bake in fifteen minutes," said Aunt Jane.

And so they did. You ought to have seen those muffins, or popovers, or whatever else you like to call them, when they came out of that oven. How they had risen and over-topped their boundaries, and how they bulged out over the sides, and flowed about in waves of brown crust! Mabel fairly danced with delight, clapping her hands and throwing her arms round Aunt Jane's neck in an ecstasy of gratitude. In the meantime, Rhoda quietly filled the rest of the tins and set them in the oven to be ready when the second installment was called for. The three cooks marched into the supper-room in triumph, and when the excellent appetites of the family showed their full appreciation of what was set before them, you have seldom seen a prouder set of girls than ours were after their first day's efforts at cooking.