The housekeeper laughed, and kissed Tilly, whom she was arraying in a great check ap.r.o.n, big enough to cover her.

"It is just how you choose to take it," she said. "I declare I'm sorry for the folks as is tied to convenience; they don't get the right good of their life. Why, honey, what isn't my convenience is somebody else's convenience, maybe. I want it to be sunshine very often, so as I kin dry my clothes, when the farmers want it to be rain to make their corn and cabbages grow. It is sure to be convenient for somebody."

"But I want it to be convenient for you, this afternoon," said Matilda, wistfully.

"Well, 'tis," said the housekeeper. "There--wash your hands in that bowl, dear; and here's a clean towel for you. A body as wants to have things convenient, had better not be a minister's housekeeper. No, the place is nice enough," she went on, as she saw Matilda's eye glance around the kitchen; "'tain't that; but I always think convenient means having your own way; and _that_ n.o.body need expect to do at the parsonage. Just so sure as I make pot pie, Mr. Richmond'll hev to go to a funeral, and it's spiled or lost, for he's no time to eat it; and I never cleaned up that hall and steps yet, but an army of boots and shoes came tramping over it out of the dirt; when if it _wants_ cleaning, it'll get leave to be without a foot crossing it all the afternoon. And if it's bakin' day, I have visitors, and have to run between them and the oven, till I don't know which end is the parlour; and that's the way, Tilly; and I don't know no better way but to conclude that somebody else's convenience is yourn--and then you'll live in clover. The minister had to preach to me a good while before I could see it, though. Now, honey, sift your flour;--here it is. Kin you do it?"

Matilda essayed to do it, and the housekeeper looked on.

"The damper is turned," she said; "we'll have the oven hot by the time the cake is ready. Now, dear, what's going into it?"

"Will that be enough?" said Matilda, lifting her floury hand out of the pan.

"_I_ want a piece," said the housekeeper; "so there had better go another bowlful. And the minister--_he_ likes a bite of hot gingerbread, when he can get it. So shake it in, dear. That will do.

Now, what are you going to put in it, Tilly, besides flour?"

"Why, _I_ don't know," said Matilda.

"Well, guess. What do you think goes into gingerbread?"

"Mola.s.ses?"

"Yes; but that goes one of the last things. Ain't you going to put no shortening in?"

"Shortening? what is that?" said Matilda.

"Well, it's whatever you've got. b.u.t.ter'll do, if it's nice and sweet--like this is--or sweet drippings'll do, or a little sweet lard, maybe. We'll take the b.u.t.ter to-day, for this is going to do you and me credit. Now think--what else? Put the b.u.t.ter right there, in the middle, and rub it into the flour with the flat of your hand, so. Rub hard, dear; get the b.u.t.ter all in the flour, so you can't see it. What is to go in next?"

"Spice? I think mamma puts spice."

"If you like it. What spice will you choose?"

"I don't know, Miss Redwood."

"Well, it'd be queer gingerbread without ginger, wouldn't it?"

"Oh yes. I forgot the ginger, to be sure. How much?"

"That's 'cordin' as you like it. _That_ won't hardly taste, dear; 'tain't just like red pepper; take a good cupful. Now just a little bit of cloves!"

"And cinnamon?"

"It'll be spice gingerbread, sure enough," said the housekeeper. "And salt, Tilly."

"Salt? Must salt go in?" said Matilda, who had got very eager now in her work.

"Salt's univarsal," said Miss Redwood. "'Cept sweetmeats, it goes into everything. That's what makes all the rest good. I never could see what was the use o' salt, till one day the minister, he preached a sermon on 'Ye are the salt of the earth,' and ever since that it seems to kind o'

put me in mind. And then I asked Mr. Richmond if _everything_ meant something."

"But what does that mean, that you said?" said Matilda. "Good people don't make the rest of the world good."

"They give all the taste there is to it, though," said the housekeeper.

"And I asked that very question myself of the minister; and what do you think he told me."

"What?"

"He said it was because the salt warn't of as good quality as it had ought to be. And _that_ makes me think, too. But la! look at your gingerbread standing still. Now see, dear here's a bowl o' b.u.t.termilk for you; it's as rich as cream, a'most; and I take and put in a spoonful of--you know what this is?"

"Salaeratus?"

"That's it."

"We use soda at our house."

"Salaeratus is good enough for me," said Miss Redwood; "and I know what it'll do; so I'm never put out in my calculations. Now when it foams up--see,--now mix your cake, dear, as quick as you like.

Stop--wait--let's get the mola.s.ses in. Now, go on. I declare, having two pair o' hands kind o' puts one out. Stir it up; don't be afraid."

Matilda was not afraid, and was very much in earnest. The gingerbread was quickly mixed, and for a few minutes there was busy work, b.u.t.tering the pans and putting the mixture in them, and setting the pans in the oven. Then Matilda washed her hands; the housekeeper put the flour and spices away; and the two sat down to watch the baking.

"It'll be good," said the housekeeper.

"I hope it will," said Matilda.

"I know 'twill," said Miss Redwood. "You do your part right; and these sort o' things--flour, and b.u.t.ter, and meat, and potatoes, and that--don't never disapint you. That's one thing that is satisfactory in this world."

"But mamma has her cake spoiled in the oven sometimes."

"'Twarn't the oven's fault," said Miss Redwood. "Did ye think it was?

Ovens don't do that for me, never."

"But sometimes the oven was too hot," said Matilda; "and other times she said it was not hot enough."

"Of course!" said the housekeeper; "and then again other times she forgot to look at it, maybe, and left her cake in too long. The cake couldn't knock at the door of the oven to be let out; that'd be too much to ask. Now look at yourn, dear."

Matilda opened the oven door and shut it again.

"What's the appearance of it?"

"It is coming up beautifully. But it isn't up in the middle yet."

"The fire's just right," said the housekeeper.

"But how can you _tell_, Miss Redwood?" said Matilda, standing by the stove with a most careful set of wrinkles on her little brow.

"Tell?" said the housekeeper; "just as you tell anything else; after you've seen it fifty times, you know."

Matilda began a painful calculation of how often she could make something to bake, and how long it would be till fifty times had made her wise in the matter; when an inner door opened, and the minister himself came upon the scene. Matilda coloured, and looked a little abashed; the housekeeper smiled.

"I am very glad to see you here, Tilly," Mr. Richmond said, heartily.