For next day’s dinner Molly bought a piece of cod about three inches thick, and a leg of mutton (the cod weighed three pounds, the mutton six and a half, which she directed the butcher to cut in half), and half a dozen bananas.
As soon as she reached home she made a boiled custard with two eggs and a pint of milk, in the following way: The eggs were whipped while the milk came near to the boiling-point. When that was reached, two heaped table-spoonfuls of sugar were added to the milk, and when dissolved it was poured to the eggs, stirring all the time. Both were then returned to the saucepan—which was set over the fire in a vessel or saucepan containing boiling water—and stirred. When the water in the under saucepan boiled round it, the custard was removed a few seconds, the stirring continuing all the time, and then it was returned. This was repeated till it was like thick cream. The object of removing it was this: The eggs must not boil or they will curdle; they must be cooked or they will not thicken; if left in the boiling water they would boil; by removing every minute for a few seconds, you keep the custard at the boiling-point till it thickens, without running risk of its curdling. Frequently, in the fear of custard’s curdling, it is taken off the fire just at the boiling-point, and it remains thin, unless corn-starch has been first boiled with the milk; in the proportion of two eggs to the pint, corn-starch is not needed for moderately thick custards. When it was done it was set to get cold, and two bananas were cut into small pieces. While the cooking was going on, Molly got out the Madeleine cake, cut side slices from it the third of an inch thick, cut the dark crust off as thin as possible, and spread three of the slices with the lemon paste she had made yesterday. The other three she laid on these, sandwich-fashion.
“Now, Marta, I’ll show you what I am going to do with my fondant icing.” As she spoke she put a table-spoonful of it in a cup which she set in boiling water over the fire. “You see I stir this, because, if I simply left it to melt, it would go back to clear syrup; by stirring, it keeps opaque like cream. I do not let this get too hot, only just warm enough to run easily.” When it had reached the point of being like double cream or molasses, she put the saucepan and cup on the table and added to it a few drops of vanilla and stirred it; then with a tea-spoon she iced each slice, pouring the fondant on and spreading it, allowing it to run over the sides.
“You see this icing cools as you do it, and it may happen in cold weather that it will cool before you finish (and if the candy has been boiled rather high, the same thing may happen any time); then you must dip a knife in boiling water, shake off the drops quickly and smooth with that; then you use the knife. Now if I had cochineal in the house I should have melted only half the quantity in this cup and half in another, and flavored one with rose, and added a very little coloring,—three or four drops,—and used it for half of these cakes; but as it is, I leave them all white.”
Molly worked as she spoke; the three slices were iced, then she held a sharp knife on the range till it was quite warm, wiped it, and cut the cake into neat tablets an inch wide and the width of the cake,—about two inches. Each slice made four, so she had a dozen small fancy cakes.
“You can see, Marta, how easy it is, if your icing is always ready and you have preserves, to have a plate of very pretty cakes in a few minutes. You may make a dozen and a half, or more; then half a dozen may be white with lemon between; half a dozen with red currant jelly, and icing colored with a small piece of unsweetened chocolate melted in a saucer on the stove and then stirred to the icing; and the others with peach, and pink icing flavored very slightly with bitter almond; and for very ornamental purposes, a dozen almonds, blanched and chopped to size of rice and sprinkled over the pink and white while the icing is still warm, make a very pretty change; in fact, very many varieties can be made once you have got the idea, and remember never to mix flavors badly. Vanilla and chocolate always agree; so you can use the same icing for the white and chocolate by doing the white cakes first, then putting the melted chocolate—and just a drop or two of water from the end of your finger or a spoon—to it. Chocolate stiffens so much that you are more likely than not to require a knife dipped in boiling water to spread it. When all are done you may mix your pink and chocolate candy together, if the flavors agree (vanilla and chocolate and rose go exceedingly well, but almond or lemon not), work it together with hand or spoon, and the result will be a lovely ashes-of-roses color. You may put it away so flavored and colored for future use, or you may use it at once for other cake, which is better, as color fades if kept too long; but remember one thing: this icing, having been made hot, will be stiffer than when you began, and to be melted over again will need perhaps a dozen drops of water mixed with it; if it has become sugary and rough, you can’t use it; but if on taking a pinch between your finger and thumb it will spread smoothly like putty or dough, it is as good as ever, which it is almost certain to be if you have worked quickly.
“The only art in this French icing is to have everything ready before you begin coloring and flavoring, to have almonds, if you use them, blanched and chopped,—in short, have to leave off for nothing; then you can work quickly, and the icing is not allowed to cool, and will not need reheating once or twice before you have finished. At first such quickness may not be easy, and if the icing chills, you will find it unmanageable; all you have to do is to return it in the water to the fire, and melt as at first; it will usually stand melting two or three times before getting grainy. Stir, while melting, only enough to mix the melted and unmelted together. Of course it is always easier to melt a quantity of icing in a bowl, and do a number of cakes, than a table-spoonful as I have done, because it holds the heat better, and you have abundance to work from; but I don’t want to destroy the delicacy of what I put away by melting all up. You see I have a little ball left.”
She had gathered the icing from the cups and spoon and worked it between her hands into a little shining ball, simply to show Marta what could be done if more had been left. “This is not worth putting away, but several little marbles like these if dipped into melted chocolate would make chocolate creams. You see how one thing leads to another in cooking.”
The custard was now cold, the bananas were stirred into it and they were put into the freezer, and ice and salt in the proportion of one third salt were packed round it. After it had stood a few minutes, Marta turned it for a quarter of an hour, when it was frozen.
Just as Molly was about to begin to write directions for the scalloped potatoes, concluding she herself would need to make only the Hollandaise sauce, and could leave the dinner to Marta, a hack drove up to the door, and Molly saw Harry’s mother and father in it.
To say she did not tremble would not be correct; for an instant her heart sank; if she had only known they were coming! She wondered if everything was as nice as she would wish it in the little sitting-room. She generally had it, not trim, or oppressively tidy, but with only the pleasant disorder of a room that is lived in; but Marta had a way sometimes of leaving her brush or dustpan—sometimes a kitchen cloth—where it ought not to be. Molly looked at herself, but she was neat, and no one had a right to expect a housewife at eleven in the morning to be ready for company. While Marta went to the door she removed her apron and washed her hands, and when she reëntered the kitchen just waited to say:—
“Marta, make some of your nice noodles at once; leave your up-stairs sweeping till later, and I’ll let you know what to get for lunch.” She passed into the parlor, having in the short interval recovered her composure, and welcomed her unexpected visitors as if their coming were a pleasant surprise, and not an embarrassment.
“Will you come up-stairs and take off your things?” asked Molly, thankful that in consequence of her wanting to show Marta how to make custard and use French icing, the sweeping was not begun and the whole place topsy-turvy and draped in sweeping-sheets.
“Well, I don’t know about staying; we just thought we would run out and see what sort of a place you had here, and take the next train back.”
“Oh, you would not do that?” cried Molly, all her hospitable instincts revolting. “What would Harry say? You must stay till he comes home, and he can perhaps induce you to stay all night.”
“Oh dear, no—no, thank you; Mr. Bishop rarely stays anywhere from home at night.”
“No, no, my dear,” echoed her father-in-law, “I am as old-fogyish as a bachelor, and I like to be at home.”
“Well, at least you must stay the day.”
“Well, if we shall not put you out, we will remain an hour or two.”
“Come up-stairs, then; you will rest better when your cloak is off.”
Molly had never felt as if her house was a bandbox till now. Mr. and Mrs. Bishop seemed literally to fill the parlor, yet they were not very large. Harry was much taller than his father, but they both had a ponderous way with them. Mrs. Bishop’s voice, too, was a deep contralto, which she used in a manner which, had it been affected, would have been haughty, but, natural as it had become, yet seemed to impress people against their will with a sense of her importance.
“And so this is your little cottage? Do you find room in it?”
“Oh, yes,” said Molly, smiling, “plenty;” but as she followed her mother-in-law up the narrow stairs, which had never seemed so narrow till she saw the rich dress and velvet-clad shoulders fill the whole space, she could see how very tiny it might seem to one accustomed to large rooms and broad spaces.
Mrs. Bishop glanced around the pretty bed-room.
“And Harry and you really are contented here?” she asked.
“Indeed, we are more than contented; I’m as happy as the day is long.”
“Well, it’s very strange for Harry; he was always the most fastidious boy; but happiness is everything, I suppose.”
“We think so.”
Molly helped Mrs. Bishop off with her cloak, which was so handsome as to look strangely out of place in that simple cottage room, and then said, “If you will excuse me, I will send you up some hot water and give orders for luncheon.”
“Thank you, thank you; don’t let me keep you; and please don’t make any preparation.”
“No, I will not; I must only see that sufficient for three persons instead of one is on the table.”
She ran down-stairs, took Marta’s rolling-pin out of her hand, told her to take a pitcher of water up-stairs, and rolled the noodle-paste till she returned.
“Marta, directly your noodles are made, go to Mrs. Framley’s and ask her to please telephone to the fishmonger for a quarter of a hundred oysters in the deep shell, to be sent here for one o’clock. Be as quick as you can, and when you come back you will find on the dining-room table full written instructions for what you are to do.”
Molly went to the parlor and found Mr. Bishop reading his paper.
“Go on reading for a minute, please; I will write a line. I know if you have not got through the morning news you will be glad to do it.”
“I just glanced at the money market at breakfast, and I’ve too much respect for my eyes to read in the cars.”
Molly went to the davenport and wrote Marta’s instructions. Her first impulse had been to use her materials for dinner, to have the frozen bananas for dessert; but on second thought she resolved to give just what she meant to have for her own lunch, with oysters to make enough; the bread was fresh and very good; therefore she wrote the following:—
“Make the cold bean soup boiling hot, boil one egg hard and cut it in quarters lengthwise, then across; lay it in the soup-tureen and pour the soup on it. Cut four thin slices of lemon and drop them in as it comes to table. When the oysters come, set them, in their shells, in a dripping-pan; put on each a bit of butter, size of a hazel-nut; pepper them and set them over the fire till the liquor in the shells bubbles; watch till the butter melts, then they are done; take them off the fire immediately. Use a cloth to put them on a hot dish; take care you do not spill the gravy. Serve with hot plates.
“Cut the cold pudding in finger-lengths, make a batter of two table-spoonfuls of flour, a pinch of salt, and milk to make it as thick as thick cream; dip each piece into the batter, and fry in deep fat till brown; sift sugar over it, and serve with hard sauce.”
As Molly wrote the last words she heard Mrs. Bishop coming down-stairs, and wondered much what she could do to entertain her. She had actually never been with her without Harry before, but the matter solved itself, for the elder lady questioned her as to her mode of life, what she did with her time, how Harry and she spent the evenings, and when told as simply as Molly knew how, she laughed, with a sort of good-natured sarcasm.
“Quite idyllic, I declare; so Harry reads aloud while you sew,—or else you both play chess.”
“Yes; of course we are almost strangers in Greenfield. When we are better known no doubt we may go out more, but all our neighbors are very pleasant.”
“Now that is one thing I wanted to caution you about; one of the penalties of living in a place like this is that you must know every one, and are apt to make intimates that you can not shake off easily when you go away.”
“But,” said Molly, with some dignity, “I shall make no intimacies I should ever want to shake off; people good enough to be my friends now will be good enough at all times.”
“My dear, I think when I was your age I had just such ideas, but I found as I grew older I had to do as others do.”
The time did not pass very gayly, and Molly wondered how she would get through the afternoon if they should stay, for she believed that she and her mother-in-law had nothing in common.
When the time came, Molly excused herself and went in to help Marta lay the cloth. The silver and glass were always bright, so there was no hasty rubbing and polishing at the last minute. That morning Harry had brought in from the tiny flower-bed a handful of geranium and coleus, saying: “We have to take them as they are ready; frost may come at any time now.”
And they were now ready for the centre, arranged in a deep glass dish, the rich coleus round the edge, the geraniums in the middle. They gave the little table an air of brightness that nothing but flowers could have done.
Molly did not want to be many minutes from the parlor, as she knew Mrs. Bishop would think great preparations were being made, and she would rather have given them bread and cheese than that, but she thought she would trust Marta to follow her written directions, as the only things, except the oysters, to cook were those she was very familiar with. The result justified her. It is true the soup had the eggs cut in slices instead of as directed, but that mattered little.
When they were seated and Mr. Bishop, who was a gourmet if not a gourmand, exclaimed: “Capital soup! capital! why don’t we have it at home?”—Molly felt a good deal relieved and a little triumphant, for Mrs. Bishop was very proud of her cook.
“Why, my dear George! I did not know you cared for bean soup!”
“I don’t, unless it’s first rate.”
When soup was removed and Marta entered with the large dish of oysters, Molly gave one hasty glance,—would they be shriveled into leather, or flabby and half cooked? But the error had been on the best side; more than half were perfectly cooked, the others barely hot through. Poor Marta had followed instructions, but had not thought to turn the pan. However, Molly was only too thankful to have so little wrong, and helped the best to her visitors. They were still almost boiling in the shell; and after this came a pretty dish of noodles that Marta had arranged round a mound of grated cheese.
After the luncheon Mrs. Bishop said with a tone of approval which Molly was determined not to think patronizing, “I declare, Molly, you keep house very nicely.”
“You must have a remarkable good cook, by Jove!” broke in Mr. Bishop.
“I am glad you think so,” said Molly, smiling.
“Where did you get her?”
“Castle Garden.”
Mrs. Bishop almost screamed when she heard it, and then Molly found the right conversational key was struck, for her mother-in-law had a great deal to say about her own troubles with servants, and the troubles of her friends; and when the “hour of digestion” had passed, she asked if they would like to go out and see some of the beauties of Greenfield.
“Well, that depends on what train we take.”
“I hoped you would stay and see Harry.”
Mrs. Bishop looked inquiringly at her husband, who said:
“Oh, we must stay and see Harry, I suppose.”
Molly smiled inwardly, as she thought that his luncheon had reassured him as to his dinner. They all went out for an hour; there was not much to see but some pretty, well-kept Queen Anne houses, and Mrs. Bishop let drop the remark that she had little expected ever to see a son of hers living in the second-rate neighborhood of a country town, which remark Molly prudently ignored.
When they returned to the house, Mrs. Bishop, at Molly’s suggestion, went to lie down, and her husband stretched himself on the sofa, and Molly slipped from the room, for she could see he too was drowsy. She went to the kitchen, told Marta how well she thought she had managed the lunch, and then gave directions for the dinner in writing, for she wanted to attend to her guests as much as possible. What she wrote was as follows:
“At five o’clock, put the mutton in the oven as usual, and the fish into salt and water. At a quarter past, put white onions on to boil in boiling water; and potatoes. When the potatoes are just done, cut them in slices thick as a dollar. Have ready a pint of white sauce, remembering to use two table-spoonfuls of flour and two of butter to the pint of milk. Chop a dessert-spoonful of parsley very fine, lay the potatoes in a dish, sprinkle a little parsley, pepper and salt among them, pour white sauce over them enough to moisten without making them sloppy, and strew grated bread crumbs over all; put them in the oven to brown. Keep the rest of the white sauce for the onions, which must be boiled very tender, poured dry immediately after they are done, and then put into the white sauce, and allowed to stew a few minutes.
“As soon as you have the potatoes ready for the oven, put the fish, which you have nicely wiped, on a plate, lay that on a napkin and set both in a saucepan of boiling water, with two tea-spoonfuls of salt and two of vinegar. It will take twenty minutes to boil.”
Molly had told Marta to take the peg out of the freezer and let off the water, at luncheon. She now went to see if the frozen banana custard was in good condition, and found it all right; then she took out the paddle, worked the custard down from the sides, and covered it, packing in more salt and ice.
“How glad I am we happened to have cold dessert,” she thought; “it will save Marta so much at the last moment.”
She read over the written instructions, although there was nothing new but the manner of cooking the potatoes, assured herself Marta understood everything, and told her she would come out herself and make the fish sauce.
It was after four o’clock, and she laid the table just as she wanted it, went up-stairs and put on one of her prettiest dresses, and then returned to the parlor. Mrs. Bishop was just rousing as she passed her door, but did not descend for some few minutes, which Molly took to glance over the paper.
All the time she was talking with his mother and father, Molly pictured Harry’s surprise at finding them, and knew it would also be a pleasure. She did not know what to augur from this visit, whether it was simply curiosity, or meant any return of the old parental tenderness for him; Harry would know, for he knew their ways better than she did.
At last she heard his steps on the plank walk; she flew to the door.
“What’s up, little woman? you look like an exclamation point in person.”
The next moment he caught sight of his visitors.
“Mother! father! why, this is a good surprise.”
Molly slipped out of the room while Harry was hearing all about their arrival, whipped on her apron and made the Hollandaise sauce. She put into a little iron saucepan a large table-spoonful of butter, a dessert-spoonful of flour, and let them cook one minute; then she poured to them two thirds of half a pint of boiling water, stirred till smooth, then added, gradually, the yolks of three beaten eggs; when she put the eggs in she stood the saucepan in another of boiling water, and stirred it well; after the eggs had thickened she put two tea-spoonfuls of lemon juice, salt, and as much cayenne as would go on the end of a penknife, and it was done. Marta had taken up the fish, and Molly directed the sauce to be poured entirely over it, herself seeing that there was not a drop of water from the fish in the dish. A sprig or two of parsley was laid at each end of the dish, and lemon in slices round it; then casting her eye round to see that Marta had everything ready but the meat, she told her to bring the fish in when she should hear Mr. Bishop come down.
The dinner was very nice, although, as Molly was glad to think, simpler than they often had when alone, and it was eaten without comment until the ice came on, when Mrs. Bishop expressed surprise at their getting such things in the country.
“Oh, we can, I believe, get excellent ice-creams here, but this is home-made.”
“Indeed!”
After dinner Mr. Bishop declared they must catch the eight o’clock train. Harry urged them in vain to stay, and then it was decided that Molly and Harry would go to the depot with them.
As they parted Mrs. Bishop said: “Harry, you and Molly must come home to spend Christmas, and had better spend a week with us.”
Harry promised to do so if they could.
“Why, of course you can;—why not?”
“Oh,” laughed Harry, “we are family people now, with the responsibility of a house on our shoulders.”
“A house! a match-box, you mean.”
With this shot they parted. Harry’s real hesitation was doubt as to what Molly might feel inclined to do; there was no denying she had been badly treated, snubbed and looked down upon.
“Well, if this isn’t the strangest turn; I don’t think I ever knew my father to leave business for a day before.”
“What does it mean, Harry?” Molly asked anxiously, for it had been a grief to her to feel she was the cause of estrangement.
“It must mean that my father, or mother, or both, are beginning to see they’ve been in fault.”
“Oh Harry, I should be so glad if you were once more all you used to be—to them.”
“I shall never be that, for I shall never go back to the sort of semi-dependence I was in,—but shall we go at Christmas?”
“Oh, certainly.”
“I’m afraid you may not have a very good time.”
“Oh, yes, I shall.”
“Then we accept. I tell you what, little Molly, if my father and mother had not been favorably impressed,—had they found us living as they expected, they would not have said a word about our going there.”
“Oh Harry, I hope so; surely, the less comfortable you were the more you would need them.”
“No, they look on it this way: as I made my bed so I must lie on it. Had the bed been a bad one, they would have said, ‘serve him right;’ as it seems much better than they thought it would be, they are inclined to think themselves wrong.”
Harry loved his parents, but he knew their pride, and that they would not have openly forgiven the blow to it; but he knew, small as the house was, Molly had shown them as refined a home as their own, and they saw that, after all, their daughter-in-law would grace any station Harry might ever attain to.