# A Little Book for A Little Cook/Other

LITTLE TALKS WITH LITTLE COOKS
The table around which the household gathers three times a day furnishes the chief opportunity for showing the results of good training, whether received in school or home. We show our unselfishness in preferring one another, anticipating one another's wants.
On the table is shown the result of the unselfish thought and care of the chief home-maker. The labor connected with the preparation of the meal is either a burden or a pleasure as one's previous training has made possible.
We get the best training for active life, in other than household work, early in life, at school and home. Why not learn to be good home-makers while still young?
We like to do what we do well. If we learn early, we learn easily and well—the work is a pleasure and success is assured.
Beginners should master the little recipes included in this book. They require only a small amount of material, but enough for success.
This is the tale that was told to me  By a loaf of home-made bread, you see,  As it sat one night on the pantry shelf—  A loaf on each side of it—just like itself,  While grouped around stood the pies and cakes,  The good old kind like mother makes,  And one and all then and there confessed  That they owed their existence to Pillsbury's Best.
I seem to trace through the distant haze My byegone life in the good old days; I see in my vision a field of wheat— I knew I was there that the world might eat— I drank of the showers and the morning dew; In the noonday sun I throve and grew— Grew on the verge of a sunny crest, Just as fast as I could for Pillsbury's Best.
And when I had grown both tall and strong The reapers came—a merry throng— And through the fields they wend their way, Just to and fro through the livelong day. Perhaps they were rude—for they cut me dead— But what if they did?—I kept my head And turned on my back and laughed in glee At the thought of the good, good flour I'd be.
I know I was good, yet the day came at last  When they said I'd be better if soundly thrashed.  Please pardon me here—I can't dwell on this much,  The subject is painful—my feelings are such.  Oh my! but the straw, it flew high in the air  And the chaff chaffed unceasing, but I didn't care,  My laughter rang forth with increased vim and zest,  My chastisement I knew—just meant Pillsbury's Best.
And then came the time when I journeyed away To the mills where the "Roller Mills" roll all day, And all of them smiled with a happy grin And welcomed us poor little wheatlets in; Oh! the grind of life—I was grasped and seized, I really can't say I was very much pleased; But to say the least, I was much impressed, And when I got through I was Pillsbury's Best.
The mills where the roller mills roll all day
And now in the latest fashions gay  In the big round world I have my say,  For in this most becoming sack,  Please note the hang—both front and back,  I journey far from the land of my birth  To feed the hungry hordes of Earth;  For those who know ne'er fail to say  That Pillsbury's flour o'er the world holds sway.
To the kitchen I go—to the bakers who bake  The bread and the cookies, the pies and the cake;  It was there that I met the package of yeast  Who raised the dough for the coming feast,  And that's why I sit and talk to-night,  For to-morrow I know I'll be out of sight;  So I'll toast myself ere this tale I close,  To Pillsbury's Best, the flour one knows.
This is the tale of the loaf on the shelf.  As told to me by the loaf itself.
 Pillsbury's  BEST  XXXX