The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1881-07-07
FRIENDSHIPS STORY.


THE MINISTER'S STORY.
Look here, Sally!''
Mrs. Deacon Farrell brushed he hourfron
her hands, casting meanwhile a complac.
sens eye over the well filed kitchen table
With it's generous arrays of unbaked pies
and cakes, the plump turkey stuffed anc
russed ready for the morrow's baking
ana the big chicken-pie, to which her fin
gers bad put the finishing touches, as she
repeated more decidedly:
Look here, Sally There's enough
chicken left with the giblets-that Ineve1
put in my own pie, because the deacon
don't relish enter make q thanksgiving
pc for the minister's folks. Twon't
need ter be very large" she added, in re-
ply Ito Sally's doubtful look, Only the
minister and his wife-and you can bake it
int that smallest yaller dish.
| Now, I'm going up stairs ter look over
them rags, an you make itan' bake it right
OF SOS / can send it right over by the dea-
con. He's gotter go out ter the corne this
afterno0n, and can take it along as we'll as
not.'
She hustled out of the door, but the
next moment, seized perhaps with sudden
again, to say warningly: si
BE sure that you put in good parcel Of
grayy; that'l keep it from bein dry, if it's
balf giblets.'
Yes'm" answered Sally, briskly; and
scatching up the rolling pin she brought it
down with an emphasis upon lump Of
dough upon the moulding board.
AS the stairway door closed behind her
mistress, Sally dropped the rolling pin, and
alook ofperplexity crept overher dull face,
making it ten times more stolid than usual,
while she repeated in ludicrous bewilder-
smsnt:
Giblets! What in all creation, if any,
body can tell me, does she mean by them"
oluntarily she took a step forward,
abut checked herself as quickly, while a
cunning smile replaced the look of perplex-
ity, and she muttered triumphantly:
ST guess ain going to confess my ig-
5loEance to the .deacon's wife, and let her
Say..as she always does, Two terms ter the
||gcaf .emy, Sally, and not know that! No
ma am! not lie there in the
house!
So, softly creeping into the adjoining
sitting room, she hastily opened big die
tionaly on the deacon's writing desk, and
began her search for the mysterious word
" -A-D--nCIC tlS! dutl BIC Icdu dlOuu
to herself, with an air Of triumph, the fol-
lowing definition.
Those parts Of fowl which are remov-
ed before cooking gizzard, liver,
etc."
That's it!-heart, gizzard. liver and so
forth, she repeated ioyfully, as she retraced
her steps to the kitchen, and began with
alarcity, to fill, according to directions, the
minister's pie; keeping up meanwhile a
running fire Of comment for her own spec
ial benefit.
Six gizzards! Well that is rather steep,
as Dan Weston would say. But guess the
deacon's wife knows; if she don't faint
none Of my business. Six hearts! Them's
small, and tuck in the corners handy. Six
ivers! Seem ter me they don't fill up
much, and she glanced with a perplexed
air, at a pile of deunded chicken bones that
formed her only resource.
Now, I wonder" with sudden inspira-
ton, what that and so forth means?
Here's hearts, gizzards and liverg, plenty Of
EN-, but no and so forth, and the pie amt
more than two thirds full yet. It must
mean, . and she cast a bewildered look at
the half filled pie, the chickens legs. I
never new nobody ter put them in pie,
but that must be what it means, and they'll
just fill up.
No sooner thought than done In went three
pairs of stout yellow legs upon which the
unfortunate owners had strutted SO proudly
the day before; on went well rolled dough
covering them from sight, and into the
oven went the minister's pie, just as the
!si ress of the house re-entered her kitchen
pastry, remarked. encouragingly:
"'That pie lOOkS real naat Sally r
shouldn't wonder if. in time, you came to
be cook"
1t was Thanksgiving morning, and Miss
Patience Pringle stood at the minister's
back door. To be sure it was rather early for
callers, but Miss Pringle was, as she often
boosted, zone of the kind that never stood
on ceremony" Indeed, she didn't consid
er it necessary even to knock before she
opened the door, although she was thought
full enough in opening it to do so softly,
The minister's wife was just taking from
the oven a newly warmed chicken pie,
which she nearly dropped from her hand,
SO startled was she by the. sharp, shrill
voice that spoke SO close to her.
Good morning, Mrs. Graham Hain't |
been to breakfast yet, I see. We had ours
half an hour ago. I know my mother
used to say that if anybody lost an hour
in the mornin, : they might chase tall day,
md not ketch up with it then. 2
That's good lookin' pie pretty rich
pastry though, for a chicken pie. I don't
never put much shortnin' in anything Of
that kind. It's rich enough inside to make
up. But you're young, an have got q
good many things to learn yet. run in to
see if you could spare me cup Of yeast;
mine soured, and the last batch Of bread 1 |
made had to throw it to the hogs"
Certainly, and roguish smile futter-
ed over the fair face of the minister's wife,
it this specimen of her meddlesome neigh
boris economy. But she had learned a rare |
lesson Of judicious silence, and taking the
,up that Miss Patience produced from be-
meath her shawl, she babe her visitor be
seated while she left the room to get the
desired article.
As her steps died sway, Miss Patience
1oiselessly arose from her seat, and APP
preaching the dresser upon which the pie |
stood, peered curiously into the apertures
n the crust, her sharp face expressing ea-
ger curiosity.