in the new play as Daisy herself.
“Oh, what next?” asked Sally, all impatience to begin.
“Shut the lower draught of the stove, so that the oven may heat.
Then wash your hands and get out the flour, sugar, salt, butter, and
cinnamon. See if the pie-board is clean, and pare your apple ready
to put in.”
Daisy got things together with as little noise and spilling as could
be expected, from so young a cook.
“I really don’t know how to measure for such tiny pies; I must
guess at it, and if these don’t succeed, we must try again,” said
Mrs. Jo, looking rather perplexed, and very much amused with the
small concern before her. “Take that little pan full of flour, put in a
pinch of salt, and then rub in as much butter as will go on that
plate. Always remember to put your dry things together first, and
then the wet. It mixes better so.”
“I know how; I saw Asia do it. Don’t I butter the pie plates too?
She did, the first thing,” said Daisy, whisking the flour about at a
great rate.
“Quite right! I do believe you have a gift for cooking, you take to it
so cleverly,” said Aunt Jo, approvingly. “Now a dash of cold water,
just enough to wet it; then scatter some flour on the board, work in
a little, and roll the paste out; yes, that’s the way. Now put dabs of
butter all over it, and roll it out again. We won’t have our pastry
very rich, or the dolls will get dyspeptic.”
Daisy laughed at the idea, and scattered the dabs with a liberal
hand. Then she rolled and rolled with her delightful little pin, and
having got her paste ready proceeded to cover the plates with it.
Next the apple was sliced in, sugar and cinnamon lavishly
sprinkled over it, and then the top crust put on with breathless
care.
“I always wanted to cut them round, and Asia never would let me.
How nice it is to do it all my ownty donty self!” said Daisy, as the
little knife went clipping round the doll’s plate poised on her hand.
All cooks, even the best, meet with mishaps sometimes, and Sally’s
first one occurred then, for the knife went so fast that the plate
slipped, turned a somersault in the air, and landed the dear little
pie upside down on the floor. Sally screamed, Mrs. Jo laughed,
Teddy scrambled to get it, and for a moment confusion reigned in
the new kitchen.
“It didn’t spill or break, because I pinched the edges together so
hard; it isn’t hurt a bit, so I’ll prick holes in it, and then it will be
ready,” said Sally, picking up the capsized treasure and putting it
into shape with a child-like disregard of the dust it had gathered in
its fall.
“My new cook has a good temper, I see, and that is such a
comfort,” said Mrs. Jo. “Now open the jar of strawberry jam, fill
the uncovered pie, and put some strips of paste over the top as
Asia does.”
“I’ll make a D in the middle, and have zigzags all round, that will
be so interesting when I come to eat it,” said Sally, loading the pie
with quirls and flourishes that would have driven a real pastry
cook wild. “Now I put them in!” she exclaimed; when the last
grimy knob had been carefully planted in the red field of jam, and
with an air of triumph she shut them into the little oven.
“Clear up your things; a good cook never lets her utensils collect.
Then pare your squash and potatoes.”
“There is only one potato,” giggled Sally.
“Cut it in four pieces, so it will go into the little kettle, and put the
bits into cold water till it is time to cook them.”
“Do I soak the squash too?”
“No, indeed! Just pare it and cut it up, and put in into the steamer
over the pot. It is drier so, though it takes longer to cook.”
Here a scratching at the door caused Sally to run and open it, when