The Douglas independent. [volume] (Roseburg, Or.) 187?-1885, 1882-03-11

usually furnish this said he, holding
up q piece of meat, which for anything
I knew, might be steak, or it might be
chops.
every well, that looks nice; give me
ten pounds" / ordered, rather pleased
with my novel position.
He asked if would have the whole
piece with the bone out?" and replied
certainly, with the bone out. For 1
made basty1refection that Mollie had
always served her meat-pies guiltless of
| bones.
I took the meat in, dropping the blood
spots on the kitchen floor, and feeling
very much as if had a good-sized ele-
phant on my hands. found the kind
| ling and wood all arranged ready for
| the match-Charley's work. The dry
kindlings started with a crash and fash
| till the little stove fairly danced with the
clatter and catching the enthusiasm
| put over the coffee pot, went into the
pantry and rolling up my sleeves began
the solemn concoctlon of the meat-pie.
| Flour must first be sifted; did Mollie
use eggs? I wondered as busted the
couldn't tell: Iwould try eggs anyway,
for eggs are always safe; SO broke half
| dozen into the flour. Salt? of course,
| any child would know that salt was very
necessary in meat pie and little nut
meg for flavor; for / remembered hear
ing Charley say once that the flavor of
Maggie's meat pies was enough to trans
port hungry mortal to the isles of the
blessed
"Well, I am sure, nutmeg grows in the
IL H.
hands in the sticky mass.
Was this ALP of course there must be
wetting Mollie used milk for her de-
licious biscuits, but water satisfies the
demands of the most ambitious pie that
how could get it without-oh, | could
never clean my hands, and this sticky
stuff will drip all over the floor to the
| sink.
A sudden peal upon the Office bell rang
through the house like the call to doom.
| 1t took me fully fifteen minutes at the
kitchen sink to wash my hands, remove
my apron, draw down my sleeves, dust
| off the -four from my dress, and when l
reached the door at last, small boy,
whose patience must have been mex
haustible, thrust into my hand package
| VI SULu6 new StOfc pO1lou duu uOuEOO
around tie corner as if he expected to be
shot I confess to the feeling that l
wished he could have been, then and
there. Closing and locking the door 1
returned again to the kitchen, this time
providing myself with q dipper of water.
I again barred my arms to the contest,
| feeling very much as if were preparing
for my execution. How ever got that
| ,,oa&, ,olI..l infa c1,a,>o onI infr. tho on1
ored dish / cannot guess, much less de-
scribe. I found, however, that here the
work was only half accomplished.
"What shall I do with that mountain
of meat? Oh, what shall 1 ever do with
those dreadful spots?" following with my
! eyes the dripping patch from the door to
the table, and the yellow, sticky marks
that tracked my steps from the pantry to
the sink.
/ At this iuncture the clock struck the
half f-hour to r. Only one hour and a
half to dinner. The coffee pot had boiled
over, and to cap the climax of misery
the fire had gone out. ] don't believe, if
I live to be 100 years old, shall ever
feel more perfectly helpless in any hu-
man emergency than ! did at that mo-
ment. I think if the earth had opened
| and engulfed me with the pasty spots
and the yellow dish and the dirty coffee
/ pot and the stained floor and that wretch
ed piece of meat, my filst sensations
| would have been those of profound graft
tude.
As an earthquake refused to come to
my relief, I resolved that would rise to
the occasion, or die in the effort. To
the shed 1 went, and returned, armed
with fresh supplies of fuel. It was a
| work of ten minutes to rekindle the fire;
work of ten more to cut off AMI curtail
that meat, to suit the dimensions of the
yellow dish; and putting on the upper
crust as quickly as possible, showed it
into the open oven, just as the clock on
one church steepte struck the hour OF
noon. Charlie sometimes delayed his re-
turn an hour or more.
"Oh if somebody would break leg,
or dislocate his neckP" laughed to my
self. ''Oh, if the sun would only stand
still in the heavensp'
The meat !. pie, temporarily off my
hands, remembered that Mollie served
vegetables with her meat pies.
| Anybody can wash potatoes cried
as a kind of prop to my sinking spirits;
Eyes, anybody can wash potatoes, and
anybody not natural fool can boil them.
There is the remains of loaf of bakers
bread in the house, and butter, and jars
of canned fruit, always to be relied upon,
and for dessert, I will have oranges and
apples" There was kind of sauce te
the meat pie, but I would use melted
butter instead. Oh, was fertile in my
resources
"Whatever shall I do, with this
kitchen?" I cried, looking around, and
thinking that one glance at it, would
strike Mollie insane.
The litter from my kindlings covered
the floor around the stove, whose usually
polished surface was grimed and smoked
with burnt coffee; upon the table lay the
remains of the beef, dripping down its
side, and all over the floor, were the
marks of beef's blood, and yolks of eggl
and -four paste. The pantry door whief
stood open, revealed the dresser in per
feet confusion from the various unwashet
dishes which I had pressed into my
service. In the sitting-room the gratt
was filled with the remains of charre'
cinders, and dead ashes of the last even
ing's fire. Dust everywhere and hugl
spiders web, woven through the night
dangled from the ceiling.
"Oh, for thousand pairs of hands"
cried. 'sTalk of heroes! talk Of martyrs
talk of Joan of Arcp'
A little ring at the front door capped
the climax of my miscryi My sweeping
cap was all askew, there was a great vel
low spot on my dress, and my moss
looked as if it had been dipped into the
, -four barrel. All this / noticed with
. kind of fiendish delight as glanced a
} myself in the mirror on my way to ths
: door. / stopped moment to shake my
, fist at the untidy image.
.sYou are nothing but great failur,
anyway" said by way of emphasis
lyon are complete failure, you are al