The Story Girl HTML version

The Proof Of The Pudding
Felicity was cumbered with many cares the next morning. For one thing, the whole house
must be put in apple pie order; and for another, an elaborate supper must be prepared for
the expected return of the travellers that night. Felicity devoted her whole attention to
this, and left the secondary preparation of the regular meals to Cecily and the Story Girl.
It was agreed that the latter was to make a cornmeal pudding for dinner.
In spite of her disaster with the bread, the Story Girl had been taking cooking lessons
from Felicity all the week, and getting on tolerably well, although, mindful of her former
mistake, she never ventured on anything without Felicity's approval. But Felicity had no
time to oversee her this morning.
"You must attend to the pudding yourself," she said. "The recipe's so plain and simple
even you can't go astray, and if there's anything you don't understand you can ask me. But
don't bother me if you can help it."
The Story Girl did not bother her once. The pudding was concocted and baked, as the
Story Girl proudly informed us when we came to the dinner-table, all on her own hook.
She was very proud of it; and certainly as far as appearance went it justified her triumph.
The slices were smooth and golden; and, smothered in the luscious maple sugar sauce
which Cecily had compounded, were very fair to view. Nevertheless, although none of
us, not even Uncle Roger or Felicity, said a word at the time, for fear of hurting the Story
Girl's feelings, the pudding did not taste exactly as it should. It was tough--decidedly
tough--and lacked the richness of flavour which was customary in Aunt Janet's cornmeal
puddings. If it had not been for the abundant supply of sauce it would have been very dry
eating indeed. Eaten it was, however, to the last crumb. If it were not just what a
cornmeal pudding might be, the rest of the bill of fare had been extra good and our
appetites matched it.
"I wish I was twins so's I could eat more," said Dan, when he simply had to stop.
"What good would being twins do you?" asked Peter. "People who squint can't eat any
more than people who don't squint, can they?"
We could not see any connection between Peter's two questions.
"What has squinting got to do with twins?" asked Dan.
"Why, twins are just people that squint, aren't they?" said Peter.
We thought he was trying to be funny, until we found out that he was quite in earnest.
Then we laughed until Peter got sulky.