Rose Clark Part 12

"What do you suppose it is, for mercy's sake? I dare say you thought it was cheese. It would be just like you; it's lard, of course."

"How much did you put in, Aunt Dolly?"

"The usual quant.i.ty; how do you suppose my pies would taste, if I made them helter-skelter?"

"That's why I asked you," answered Rose, meekly.

"Well, how much did I put in? Why, there's that bowl full," said Dolly, "haven't you got eyes?"

"But if that bowl should get broke, Aunt Dolly, I couldn't tell, unless I had another exactly that size, how much to take."

"I suppose it must needs be a yellow bowl, too," sneered Dolly, "just like this, with a black rim round the edge; how ridikilis!"

"Isn't there any rule?" asked Rose, despondingly; "how shall I know when I get it right?"

"Why, go by your common sense, of course; how ridikilis; there, now, just see how you have cut those apples, all sorts of ways; wasted half of 'em in the parings."

"I am sorry," said Rose, "I was trying to learn how you made that crust--how much b.u.t.ter is there there, Aunt Dolly?"

"Why, those two pieces, don't you see? what silly questions you ask."

"I am afraid I shall never learn," said the bewildered Rose, "I don't believe I could do it."

"I dare say you couldn't; you are just as stupid about that as you are about every thing else. You are just like your mother, ex-actly."

"What did you do that for?" asked Rose, as Dolly, having made her paste, put a small dab of dough in the mouth of the oven.

"'Cause I felt like it," said Dolly, "it don't look like a pudding, does it, and it isn't a pie; I dare say you'd stare at it till the millennium, without ever guessing what it was for; come, stone your raisins; you won't get done till next Christmas; of course, if you had any sense, you'd know that it was a piece of dough put there to try the heat of the oven--you are the tiresomest little young one I ever saw; you always talk at me, till I'm all gone at the stomach."

"Why did you stand some of the pies up on bricks in the oven, and set others on the oven floor?" asked Rose, a short time after.

"Well," exclaimed Dolly, "that goes ahead of any thing you have said yet; if it wasn't for letting my oven cool, I could hold my sides and laugh an hour; a smart cook you'd make; don't you see that there's either too many pies or too small an oven, and that by standing bricks endways between the plates, and putting pies on top of 'em, I can get lots more room, you born fool! Did you ever see such a stupid thing?"

asked Dolly, turning to Daffy.

"But it's all new to her, you know," said Daffy, apologetically.

"Well, new or old, that child never will be good for any thing, with all my trying; she's just like her mother, ex-actly."

"There, now," said Dolly, "I am going into the bed-room to lie down; now see if you have sense enough to clear up here; get the dough off that pan and rolling-pin, put away the dredging-box, and salt, and lard, and b.u.t.ter, and things; throw away those apple chunks and raisin stuns, wash off the table, scrub up the floor, rinse out the dish-towels, and don't be all day about it."

As Dolly slammed the door to behind her, Rose sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, leaned her head on the table, and wept; she was growing older, and more capable of judging of the gross injustice done her.

Bitter, despairing thoughts came into her gentle heart, for it seemed as if the more patiently she bore her cross, the heavier it grew. She wondered if she could be worse off if she ran away, with the earth for her pillow, the skies for her shelter? Surely, strangers would not be more unfeeling than Dolly.

Oh, how could Dolly be sister to the gentle mother, whom she had seen drooping away day by day, and whose sweet, tender eyes had never yet faded from her sight. Rose remembered the murmured prayer with which she drew her little head upon her bosom the day she died, and now--she looked hopelessly about her. Hark--she thought she heard her name murmured in those same sweet, loving, maternal accents.

"_Rose!_"

Was it fancy? No! A bunch of flowers glanced through the open window and fell at her feet; a paper was twisted round the stem, and on it was written,

"FOR THE BABY'S FRIEND, LITTLE ROSE.

"When thy father and thy mother forsake thee, then the Lord will take thee up."

A bright smile came to Rose's lip, and with a hurried glance around the kitchen, she hid the bouquet in her bosom, and stepped lightly to her tasks.

The baby's mother loved her; the flowers were rightly named--Heart's-ease.

CHAPTER XVIII.

"Don't you think you are a l-i-t-t-le hard on Rose?" asked Daffy, as Dolly reseated herself behind the counter, after her nap.

"Hard on her? to feed her, and clothe her, and keep her out of the alms-house," said Dolly. "Dreadful hard, that is."

"But you know you speak pretty sharp to her, and she does try to do right, Dolly."

"So she ought," said Dolly, tartly.

"Yes--but you know some children would get clean discouraged, if they were never praised."

"Let her get discouraged, then, I don't care, so long as she does what I tell her."

"I am afraid it will spoil her temper, by and by, and make it hard for you to get along with her."

"No fear of that," answered Dolly, glancing up at her small riding-whip.

"I have finished in the kitchen, Aunt Dolly," said Rose. "Shall I go take my sewing?"

"Of course," said Dolly. "You might know that, without asking."

"Looking pale, is she?" said Dolly, turning to Daffy, "did you see what a bright color she had when she came in, and how her eyes sparkled?"

"I never saw her look so before," replied Daffy; "I wonder what has come over her."

"Nothing has come over her, except that it has done her good to work;"

said Dolly, "talk about my being 'hard on her,' indeed."

"Good morning, Dolly! A paper of No. nine needles, sharps, if you please--have you heard the news?"

"No," exclaimed Dolly and Daffy in a breath.

"Well--Miss Pettingill was down to Miss Gill's to tea last night, and Miss Gill was to work the day before at Deacon Grant's; and she said Deacon Grant and Deacon Tufts were closeted in the back parlor all the afternoon, and Miss Gill listened at the key-hole, and she heard them say, that the minister ought to go off on a little journey with his wife, because they were so low sperrited about the baby, and they are going to raise the funds to send him to the springs or somewhere, I don't know where. Miss Gill couldn't hear the whole of it, because she was afraid of being caught listening."