Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1861-10-12

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reminded of the old nursery song
cold Mother Hubbard went to the cup
board," etc. but instead of finding It
bare, we found proof sufficient to mid
night revel, and we both exclaimed
''The Rats -
1t was arranged that Tom should
kindle the fire and make the coffee,
while [ mixed the bread and laid the
table. Tying on an apron to keep my
dre-no, pants clean, went to work.
The flour was sifted but what next :?
The cookbook was consulted: GA lit
tie saleratus, yeast, and salt according
to your Judgment"
"Tom,'' said I, "what does this
mean-salt according to your judg-
ment 20
"Why, don't you know? A cup full,
Of course. I thought you knew how
to make bread"
And Tom blew into the stove until
his face was what might be called u
'Ecelestial red"
went to the stove and found that
the dampers were closed.
II must say, Tom," said I, ''that if
you are as long kindling a flame in
lady's heart as you have been in this
stove, your future prospects are not
flattering. [ thought you knew how
to kindle fire."
My bread had been in the oven about
an hour, and, although I had looked at
it and turned it round, it looked as flat
as when first put it in pan. BY our
united efforts we succeeded in building
q roaring fire, and soon the fragrant
smell Of coffee filed the room. The
table was laid, and we were patiently
waiting for the bread to bake.
"What on earth are you doing,
Tom y I exclaimed, as [ saw him at
work upon an old fsh-skin.
"Why, settling the coffee, to be sure;
didn't you tell me to put in q fish p
and I've only put in a half a one as
yet"
90, dear!r' I groaned, S'your ears
and generous disposition will be the
death of you yet | said a little piece
Of fish-skin; but perhaps it is better
than it looks; salt is good, You know"
The bread began to look brown;
and we decided that it was done
brown. While placing it upon the ta-
bic | heard groan and a faint "Come
here, Bob" from the Kitchen Tom
had poured hot water upon his hand,
and he sat on the floor, blowing fur
iously upon his fingers.
"Soft soap is good; 90 put your
hands into the pot of soap in the eel
lar"
90, murder! murder :" came in tones
Of agony from the regions below
"Sott soap is good for burns, is it %
And Tom came up with tears
streaming down his face, and the salt
brine dripping down his hand.
''Contound this housekeeping, don't
you say, Bob? But let us have some
breakfast, or the Coroner will have q
case of starvation to investigate.
We sat down to the table; but be-
fore we had eaten two mouthfuls of
bread, or swallowed two swallows of
coffee, we came to the conclusion that
the waters Of the far famed Salt Lake
could not equal our coffee; and that if
one of the biscuits hung about per-
sons neck it would prove milestone.
We began to anaIyze the saline sub
iectS before us, and we unanimously
agreed that "Saleratus and salt accord
ING to your own Judgment" was no
Judgment at all.
The striking of the clock warned us
that we could investigate no more, and
that it was time we were on our way
to the office We compared notes,
and found that we had been just three
hours preparing our delicious breakfast.
Eleven o'clock found us taking lunch
at Taylor's.
AS we had been disapp ointed in the
morning, we were determined to make
pies and cakes; they were much east
er than bread for new beginners. So,
two hours before the usual time for
closing our Office, we bade adieu to
books and documents, and were hurry
ing home to profit by tie experience of
the morning meal. We could not but
miss the cheerful face, the blazing fire.
and the we'll laid table that greeted
our return from our daily toll; but we
soon banished those sad thoughts by
vigorously welding the broom, and in
short time the kitchen looked quite
presentable.
was to make the pies and cakes,
and Tom was to run on errandS and
make the custard pudding. That was
nothing to make-a little milk and a
few eggs; who couldn't make a pud-
ding? Putting on large apron, and
rolling up my coat sleeves, | prepared
for my afternoons work. First we
dropped the curtain for fear we might