On the next day, I told Margaret that we must part; but she begged so hard to be kept in her place, and promised good behaviour in future so earnestly, that I was prevailed on to try her again. It was of no use, howeverin less than a week she was drunk again, and I had to let her go.
After that, for some months, we had burnt steaks, waxy potatoes, and dried roast beef to our hearts' content; while such luxuries as muffins, hot cakes, and the like were not to be seen on our uninviting table.
My next good cook had such a violent temper, that I was actually afraid to show my face in the kitchen. I bore with her until patience was no longer a virtue, and then she went.
Biddy, who took charge of my "kitchen cabinet," a year or so afterwards, proved herself a culinary artist of no ordinary merit. But, alas! Biddy "kept a room;" and so many strange disappearances of bars of soap, bowls of sugar, prints of butter, etc., took place, that I was forced to the unwilling conclusion that her room was simply a store room for the surplussage of mine. Some pretty strong evidence on this point coming to my mind, I dismissed Biddy, who was particularly forward in declaring her honesty, although I had never accused her of being wanting in that inestimable virtue.
Some of my experiences in cooks have been musing enough. Or, I should rather say, are musing enough to think about: they were rather annoying at the time of their occurrence. One of these experiences I will relate. I had obtained a "treasure" in a new cook, who was not only good tempered and cleanly, but understood her business reasonably well. Kitty was a little different from former incumbents of her office in this, that she took an interest in reading, and generally dipped into the morning paper before it found its way up stairs. To this, of course, I had no objection, but was rather pleased to see it. Time, however, which proves all things, showed my cook to be rather too literary in her inclinations. I often found her reading, when it was but reasonable for me to expect that she would be working; and overdone or burnt dishes occasionally marked the degree in which her mind was absorbed in her literary pleasures, which I discovered in time, were not of the highest order-such books as the "Mysteries of Paris" furnishing the aliment that fed her imagination.
"Jane," said my husband to me one morning, as he was about leaving the house, "I believe I must invite my old friend Green to dine with me to-day. He will leave the city to-morrow, and I may not have the pleasure of a social hour with him again for years. Besides, I want to introduce him to you. We were intimate as young men, and much attached to each other. I would like you to know him."
"Invite him, by all means," was my reply.
"I will send home a turkey from market," said Mr. Smith, as he stood holding on to the open door. "Tell Kitty to cook it just right. Mrs. Green, I am told, is a first-rate housekeeper, and I feel like showing you off to the best advantage."
"Don't look for too much," I replied, smiling, "lest you be disappointed."
Mr. Smith went away, and I walked back to the kitchen door to say a word to Kitty. As I looked in, the sound of my feet on the floor caused her to start. She was standing near a window, and at my appearance she hurriedly concealed something under her apron.
"Kitty," said I, "we are to have company to dine with us to-day. Mr. Smith will send home a turkey, which you must dress and cook in the best manner. I will be down during the morning to make some lemon puddings. Be sure to have a good fire in the range, and see that all the drafts are clear."
Kitty promised that every thing should be right, and I went up stairs. In due time the marketing came home. About eleven o'clock I repaired to the kitchen, and, much to my surprise, found all in disorder.
"What in the world have you been doing all the morning?" said I, feeling a little fretted.
Kitty excused herself good naturedly, and commenced bustling about to put things to rights, while I got flour and other articles necessary for my purpose, and went to work at my lemon puddings, which were, in due time, ready for the oven. Giving all necessary directions as to their baking, and charging Kitty to be sure to have every thing on the table precisely at our usual hour for dining, I went up into the nursery to look after the children, and to see about other matters requiring my attention.
Time passed on until, to my surprise, I heard the clock strike one. I had yet to dress for dinner.
"I wonder how Kitty is coming on?" said I to myself. "I hope she will not let the puddings get all dried up."
But, I felt too much in a hurry to go down and satisfy myself as to the state of affairs in the kitchen; and took it for granted that all was right.
A little while afterwards, I perceived an odor as of something burning.
"What is that?" came instinctively from my lips. "If Kitty has let the puddings burn!"
Quick as thought I turned from my room, and went gliding down stairs. As I neared the kitchen, the smell of burned flour, or pastry, grew stronger. All was silent below; and I approached in silence. On entering Kitty's domain, I perceived that lady seated in front of the range, with a brown covered pamphlet novel held close to her face, in the pages of which she was completely lost. I never saw any one more entirely absorbed in a book. No sign of dinner was any where to be seen. Upon the range was a kettle of water boiling over into the fire, and from one of the ovens poured forth a dark smoke, that told too plainly the ruin of my lemon puddings. And, to cap all, the turkey, yet guiltless of fire or dripping pan, was upon the floor, in possession of a strange cat, which had come in through the open window. Bending over the still entranced cook, I read the title of her book. It was "THE WANDERING JEW."
"Kitty!" I don't much wonder, now, at the start she gave, for I presume there was not the zephyr's softness in my voice.
"Oh, ma'am!" She caught her breath as her eyes rested upon the cat and the turkey. "Indeed, ma'am!" And then she made a spring towards puss, who, nimbly eluding her, passed out by the way through which she had come in.
By this time I had jerked open the oven door, when there came rushing out a cloud of smoke, which instantly filled the room. My puddings were burned to a crisp!
As for the turkey, the cat had eaten off one side of the breast, and it was no longer fit for the table.
"Well! this is fine work!" said I, in an angry, yet despairing voice. "Fine work, upon my word!"
"Oh, ma'am!" Kitty interrupted me by saying, "I'll run right off and buy another turkey, and have it cooked in time. Indeed I will, ma'am! And I'll pay for it. It's all my fault! oh dear! dear me! Now don't be angry, Mrs. Smith! I'll have dinner all ready in time, and no one will be any the wiser for this."
"In time!" and I raised my finger towards the kitchen clock, the hands of which marked the period of half past one. Two o'clock was our regular dinner hour.
"Mercy!" ejaculated the frightened cook, as she sank back upon a chair; "I thought it was only a little past eleven. I am sure it was only eleven when I sat down just to read a page or two while the puddings were in the oven!"
The truth was, the "Wandering Jew," in the most exciting portion of which she happened to be, proved too much for her imagination. Her mind had taken no note of time, and two hours passed with the rapidity of a few minutes.
"I don't exactly comprehend this," said my husband, as he sat down with his old friend, to dine off of broiled steak and potatoes, at half-past two o'clock.
"It's all the fault of the 'Wandering Jew!'" I replied, making an effort to drive away, with a smile, the red signs of mortification that were in my face.
"I don't exactly comprehend this," said my husband, as he sat down with his old friend, to dine off of broiled steak and potatoes, at half-past two o'clock.
"It's all the fault of the 'Wandering Jew!'" I replied, making an effort to drive away, with a smile, the red signs of mortification that were in my face.
"The Wandering Jew!" returned my husband, looking mystified.
"Yes, the fault lies with that imaginary personage," said I, "strange as it may seem." And then I related the mishaps of the morning. For desert, we had some preserved fruit and cream, and a hearty laugh over the burnt puddings and disfigured turkey.
Poor Kitty couldn't survive the mortification. She never smiled again in my house; and, at the close of the week, removed to another home.
CHAPTER III
LIGHT ON THE SUBJECT
"THE oil's out, mum," said Hannah, the domestic who succeeded Kitty, pushing her head into the room where I sat sewing.
"It can't be," I replied.
"Indade, mum, and it is. There isn't the full of a lamp left," was the positive answer.
"Then, what have you done with it?" said I, in a firm voice. "It isn't four days since a gallon was sent home from the store."
"Four days! It's more nor a week, mum!"
"Don't tell me that, Hannah," I replied, firmly; "for I know better. I was out on last Monday, and told Brown to send us home a gallon."
"Sure, and it's burned, mum, thin! What else could go with it?"
"It never was burned in our lamps," said I, in answer to this. "You've either wasted it, or given it away."
At this Hannah, as in honor bound, became highly indignant, and indulged in certain impertinences which I did not feel inclined to notice.
But, as the oil was all gone, and no mistake; and, as the prospect of sitting in darkness was not, by any means, an agreeable onethe only remedy was to order another gallon.
Something was wrong; that was clear. The oil had never been burned.
That evening, myself and husband talked over the matter, and both of us came to the conclusion, that it would never do. The evil must be remedied. A gallon of oil must not again disappear in four days.
"Why," said my husband, "it ought to last us at least a week and a half."
"Not quite so long," I replied. "We burn a gallon a week."
"Not fairly, I'm inclined to think. But four days is out of all conscience."
I readily assented to this, adding some trite remark about the unconscionable wastefulness of domestics.
On the next morning, as my husband arose from bed, he shivered in the chilly air, saying, as he did so:
"That girl's let the fire go out again in the heater! Isn't it too bad? This thing happens now every little while. I'm sure I've said enough to her about it. There's nothing wanted but a little attention."
"It is too bad, indeed," I added.
"There's that fishy smell again!" exclaimed Mr. Smith. "What can it be?"
"Fishy smell! So there is."
"Did you get any mackerel from the store yesterday?"
"None."
"Perhaps Hannah ordered some?"
"No. I had a ham sent home, and told her to have a slice of that broiled for breakfast."
"I don't know what to make of it. Every now and then that same smell comes up through the registerparticularly in the morning. I'll bet a sixpence there's some old fish tub in the cellar of which she's made kindling."
"That may be it," said I.
And, for want of a better reason, we agreed, for the time being, upon that hypothesis.
At the end of another four days, word came up that our best sperm oil, for which we paid a dollar and forty cents a gallon, was out again.
"Impossible!" I ejaculated.
"But it is mum," said Hannah. "There's not a scrimption leftnot so much as the full of a thimble."
"You must be mistaken. A gallon of oil has never been burned in this house in four days."
"We burned the other gallon in four days," said Hannah, with provoking coolness. "The evenings are very long, and we have a great many lights. There's the parlor light, and the passage light, and the"
"It's no use for you to talk, Hannah," I replied, interrupting her. "No use in the world. A gallon of oil in four days has never gone by fair means in this house. So don't try to make me believe itfor I won't. I'm too old a housekeeper for that."
Finding that I was not to be convinced, Hannah became angry, and said something about her not being a "thafe." I was unmoved by this, however; and told her, with as much sternness of manner as I could assume, that I should hold her responsible for any future waste of the article; and that if she did not feel inclined to remain on such terms, she had better go.
"Dade, thin, and I'll go to onst," was the girl's spirited answer.
"Very well, Hannah. You are your own mistress in this respect," said I, coolly. "I'm not in the least troubled about filling your place; nor fearful of getting one who will waste a gallon of oil in four days."
Hannah retired from my presence in high indignation, and I fully expected that she would desert my house forthwith. But, no; unlike some others of her class, she knew when she had a good place, and had sense enough to keep it as long as she could stay.
In due time she cooled off, and I heard no more about her getting another place.
"There's that fishy smell again!" exclaimed my husband, as he arose up in bed one morning, a day or two afterwards, and snuffed the air. "And, as I live, the fire in the heater is all out again! I'll have some light on this subject, see if I don't."
And he sprung upon the floor, at the same time hurriedly putting on his dressing gown and a pair of slippers.
"Where are you going?" said I, seeing him moving towards the door.
"To find out where this fishy smell comes from," he replied, disappearing as he spoke.
In about five minutes, Mr. Smith returned.
"Well, if that don't beat all!" he exclaimed, as he re-entered the chamber.
"What?" I very naturally enquired.
"I've found out all about that fishy smell," said he.
"What about it? Where does it come from?"
"You wouldn't guess in a month of Sundays! Well, this is a great world! Live and learn!"
"Explain yourself, Mr. Smith. I'm all impatience."
"I will; and in a few words. The fire was out in the heater."
"Yes."
"And I very naturally took my way down to where I expected to find our lady at work in the re-kindling process."
"Well?"
"Sure enough, there she was, kindling the fire with a vengeance."
"With what?" I asked. "With a vengeance?"
"Yes, with a vengeance to my pocket. She had the oil can in her hands, and was pouring its contents freely into the furnace, in order to quicken combustion. I now understand all about this fishy smell."
"And I all about the remarkable disappearance of a gallon of oil in four days. Kindling the fire with dollar and forty cent oil!"
"Even so!"
"What did you say to her, Mr. Smith?"
"Nothing. But I rather think she'll not want me to look at her again, the huzzy!"
"Kindling fire with my best sperm oil! Well, I can't get over that!"
Something in this wise I continued to ejaculate, now and then, until my astonishment fairly wore itself out.
I didn't consider it worth while to say any thing to Hannah when I went down stairs, thinking it best to let the look my husband spoke of, do its work. By the way, I don't much wonder that she was frightened at his lookfor he canBut I forgotI am speaking of my husband, and he might happen to read this.
Of course, Hannah's days in my house were numbered. No faith was to be placed in a creature who could so shamefully destroy a useful article placed in her hands. If she would burn up the oil, it was but fair to infer that she would as remorselessly make way with other things. So I parted with her. She begged me to let her stay, and made all sorts of promises. But I was immovable.