T' HE old mill river was gurgling and singing as it glided along amid the glimmer of sunshine rife everywhere, and a great launch was to render the day famous-that of the Red Rover and the Flying Dutchman. And now their builders themselves, with their two especial chums, were bounding along the river's bank, carrying their respective vessels. "Mine'll cut yours out, Dick," said Bob Hayter, the owner of the Red Rover, eyeing his little bark with boyish affection and pride. "Not that!" cried confident Dick Henley; "no Red Rover in the world 'll beat the Flying Dutchman; my uncle says he never saw a neater little craft than mine, and he's a sailor, you know." "Well, I've a right to stand up for my own, haven't I?" spoke Bob, hotly. "Now, don't you two quarrel, or all our fun's over," said pacific Harry Lee. "No, don't quarrel," cried the fourth, Will Grey, clapping the two good-humouredly on the shoulder; then they all laughed and went on. The right spot for the launch was found at last, miniature planks were laid down, and all the observances of a real launch attended to, their young faces a pleasant study the while as they did this and that; and now came the all-important moment. "We'll let them go dash through the flood-gates and by the mill," averred Bob, his cheeks glowing as the Red Rover swept out and took the lead. "Yes, right through the flood-gates. Jacob Till isn't the man to say no. And see if the Flying Dutchman isn't first!" cried vain-glorious Dick. But ah! there on the mill platform, as they drew near, stood the miller, Jacob Till, Jemmy Crossly, an old man who lived hard by, and Jemmy, his waggish grandson, whom the boys generally averred to be as much like a cricket as his grandfather was like a crab-apple. The elder Jemmy was crying-ay, actually crying-his head bare, his white locks streaming out on the chill wind, as he bent over something lying at his feet. "Why, 'tis old Prin," cried Will Grey. Prin was an old, cross-grained dog, very like his master, if we may believe the boys, very much beloved by the old man, but which had been missing for days past. But Jacob Till was shaking his fist at the lads. "Be off with you, you young Turks, or 'twill be the worse for you and your precious ships; I'm going to shut the flood-gates," he roared, while Jemmy wiped his eyes and gazed wrathfully their way. 66 66 Why, what's in the wind?" returned Dick. "We ain't doing nothing, only sailing our vessels." Back, I say, or I'll wreck 'em," roared Jacob. "I'll have no dog-killers dabbling in my wateryou've brought the old man's dog to a watery grave -see here! we've just fished him up." Ah! there lay Prin, quite lifeless, in the sunshine. "Oh! we didn't!" protested staunch Dick. "Ye were always threatening the poor varmint." "Yes, and so were half the parish-but we had no hand in his end," floated back in reply. "Oh! you said he should drink water," piped young Jemmy. "Ah, well! we can't talk of that now-we've other fish to fry," Bob laughed, merrily. Jacob Till might have thought it savoured of defiance; he might have deemed it right to stand by the old man and punish his tormentors-if they deserved the title; at any rate, before they realised that he was in earnest, he was at the flood-gates. "Oh, don't!" pleaded Dick, his face quivering as his eye took in the fate of the two pretty, dainty barks riding, so to speak, proudly at anchor, stayed by the detaining string. But Jacob was inexorable; the gates swung to. There was a mighty tumult of water-tug and toil as the two owners might, their ships were sucked under before their very eyes, hopelessly wrecked. ""Tis a crying shame, it is-it is!" sobbed Bob, big boy of ten years though he was, as they drew the dripping remains to shore. "We'll be even with you, Jemmy Crossly!" cried Dick as a parting salute, as they turned away homeward, vowing vengeance to Jemmy Crossly. Ah, well! they were rollicking, mischievous youngsters, but not vindictive; their anger was but as the foam on the old mill river, seen, and then gone. On the next day they fell to ship-building again, going heart and soul into their work. "Here, I say, I've hit upon a plan for paying out old Jemmy Crossly; we mustn't forget we owe him a grudge," said Harry Lee, They were all four in the shed they termed their workshop, the sweet February gloaming gathering about them, and as prankish as March hares. "Have you-out with it!"-and instantly there was a crowding together, and much whispering. "Yes!" averred Bob; "I heard him say he was going to send a little white lump of a kitten to Miss Milly, at the rectory, as a Valentine's present ""Twasn't a kitten, but a dead rat, when I got there," were his astounding tidings, and old Jemmy "Well?"—and now there was much shrugging of fairly cut a caper in his astonishment. shoulders, and pressing closer together. "Let's put a dead rat into the basket-young Jemmy's sure to carry her that way-and take out the kitten; 'twould be a rare joke to make a silly of him, sending the brute to the young lady; he ought to suffer for swamping our ships." So did the plotter lay open his scheme. "Oh, ay, he ought to suffer, and 'twould be only a ticklish suffering, not like what he gave us," and a tender regret was in Bob's voice. "But how is it to be done?" asked Will Grey. "Never you fear-I'll manage that," averred Harry-and they knew he would. "And to-morrow's the very day—the fourteenth." A chuckle went round, and soon they separated. "Here it is," said Harry, the next morning, displaying a fine dead rat to his companions' admiring eyes, as they all mustered near old Jemmy's cottage to await the tide of events. "Now then!" Behind the garden hedge they popped, for the cottage door was opening. "Be sure to say Jemmy Crossly sent her, with his kind respects to Miss Milly, as a Valentine's present," said Jemmy the elder at the door. "All right," returned the younger, going off. "Now then, we must get him to put down the basket; then out comes the kitten and in goes the rat," said Harry. But Jemmy fell into their toils without any of their trickery. Before he had gone far he found he needed a stick, so down went the basket, and no sooner was his back turned than, as if by magic, out came the kitten, in went the rat. Poor little frightened kitty was hidden away under Harry's jacket, and Jemmy, furnished with a stick, returned, took his basket, and marched on his way. up "Now, if we could see him come back, and pop the kitten in again, 'twould be a trick worth playing," remarked Harry, so as "where there's a will there's a way" with lads, they loitered about; and, anon, the redoubtable Jemmy appeared. 66 "I say, my lad, is that a kitten there, away over that field?" cried Harry, as the four drew near. "Where?" was the eager response-Jown went the precious basket, and away he ran. Now Miss Pussy was in her own quarters again, and the rat in Harry's pocket. The other three joined in the race after the imaginary kitten; then all three returned, Jemmy with a rueful face, to take up his basket and trot on homeward. The four lads marched behind in his wake. "Well, what did Miss Milly say?" questioned old Jemmy, meeting the younger one at the door. Nay, don't tell fibs, Jemmy," said he. “'Twere, and I see 'un, and so can you,” and the boy held open the basket for inspection. there was the kitten all right. Ah! "She must be a fairy kitten or some'at; I know she was a rat a while ago,” affirmed the boy ;" and Miss Milly screeched at 'un, and so did cook." Young Jemmy rubbed his eyes, but it was a fact that a little white ball of a kitten lay in the basket! "Ye made a mistake, lad; there ain't no fairies in these days-carry her back; I'd set my mind on Miss Milly having her, 'cause she felt for me all along of Prin and them boys." So Jemmy departed, and our heroes once more crept forth, and actually performed one more trick. "'Tis a kitten, Miss Milly-see here!" so the boy accosted the little lady, meeting her on the lawn, four heads bo-peeping at the rectory gate. The child laughed, yet shuddered, as peeping into the basket she espied the same dead rat ! "Well, I never! she were a kitten when I set out, and now she's a rat,” gasped Jemmy. "Ah! what have you here?" asked the rector. “Grandfather has sent Miss Milly a white kitten as keeps changing into a rat," said Jemmy. "Ah! and I fancy I know who's at the bottom of the plot," laughed the rector, and he went down to the gate where were those peeping heads. "Well, lads, what's this prank for?" he asked. "We said we'd pay Jemmy Crossly out for telling fibs about us, and getting our ships wrecked." "Ah, well! here he comes," averred the rector. "Ah! have she turned again?" queried the old man, toiling up and peering into the basket. "Ay, grandfather." ""Tis only fun-boys' fun, Jemmy, to punish you for a wrong. See there," observed the rector, pointing to Harry with the kitten in his arms. "Here's Miss Milly's (fairy) Valentine, Jemmy--where's our vessels ?" "Where's my old Prin?" was the reply. "Prin! why I've had him a private prisoner for days past, to try and teach him a lesson not to steal," said the rector, and all eyes were wide open. "Then whose was the dead dog?" gasped old Jemmy. "Ah! you've all been at cross purposes," laughed the reverend gentleman, "but 'all's well that ends well;' no harm is done. But for the future don't be too ready to lay blame till you're sure you are right, Jemmy. And you youngsters, I am no advocate for practical jokes ; still, as I say, no harm's done, and you've had your fun out of it.” LITTLE MARGARET'S KITCHEN, AND WHAT SHE DID IN IT. II. By PHILLIS BROWNE, Author of "A Year's Cookery," What Girls Can Do," &c. HEN Margaret found that she could not even make a little piece of toast without being told how to do it, she looked rather blank. "It is more difficult to cook than I fancied," she said. "I thought you had nothing to do but put on an apron, and stir something in the saucepan, and everything would come out right." "A good many people have that idea," said her mother. "But now let us begin with the toast. Shall we make buttered toast or dry toast?" "I don't mind at all," said Margaret. "That will never do. Before you cut the bread you must know what you are cutting it for. The loaf for toast should be about two days old, and the fire should be clear and bright. For dry toast, you cut the bread in thin slices, not quite a quarter of an inch thick. For buttered toast, the bread must be a little thicker, that is, a little more than a quarter of an inch thick. We will make the dry toast first. Now we are ready for the toasting-fork." "Here it is," said Mary. "Thank you. Put one of the slices on the fork, at such a distance that the bread shall be only heated and dried, then turn it, and let the other side be heated and dried also. By this time the bread will be thoroughly hot. Now begin to move it about until it is coloured all over. Turn it again, and colour the other side; and be sure you do not let the toast get black. If the toast is thus gradually made, it will be crisp; and it is the beauty of dry toast to be crisp. As soon as it is done, cut off the crust, and set the pieces on edge in a toast-rack, and send them to table directly. Toast of any kind should never be made before it is wanted. Now for the buttered toast." "Yes, now for the buttered toast," said Mary, who had looked at the dry toast with great scorn. "This toast must also be made slowly, and turned at least twice, till it is brightly browned on both sides. Put it on a hot plate, and spread a little butter lightly on it; if you press the toast with the knife you will spoil it. As each slice is finished, cut it into strips an inch and a half broad, and pile these neatly on the dish on which they are to be served. Some people butter the slices and lay them one on the top of the other, and then cut through the whole pile. By doing this they squeeze the butter from the top slices into the lower ones." "Oh, dear! I never thought there was all this to be said about toast," said Margaret. "My dear, there is 'all this,' or something else as important, about making everything that is worth making at all. Do you know that a great French cook, who is now dead, M. Soyer, took a great deal of pains to teach the art of making toast. He showed that toast made as I have been telling you costs a little trouble, but it really browns more quickly, and is much lighter than if made without having been first dried. Surely if a clever cook, after finding out little points of this sort, thinks it worth while to tell us about them, we ought to attend to what he says." "Oh! we will both remember," said Margaret and Mary together; and Margaret added, "I will make grandmamma's toast every day." "Grandmamma will be very pleased for you to do so, if you make it as I have been telling you. Now, shall we go on to something else?" "The wedding cake!" said Margaret, in ecstasy, and Mary quivered with excitement. "Little folk, you must be patient," said Mrs. Herbert. "Learning to cook is like everything else: you have to begin with little uninteresting things, and find out why you are to do this and why you are not to do the other. I want you to forget the wedding cake, and devote yourselves to the hard work of learning the different ways of cooking, and the reasons of them. Can you do this?" The children once more looked blank. "You are to think of our work as a lesson, not as play. It will be an interesting lesson, because you will use your fingers as well as your memories. Still, you will have to give your minds to it." "All right; we will do so," said the two. "Then to begin. You know that almost everything we see could be taken to pieces, and made into ever so many things. You, for instance, are little girls, but you are made up of bone, flesh, blood, skin, hair "And thinking," said Margaret. "Yes, and thinking; that is a very important part of you. Now, this 'you' is constantly wasting away, altering, and growing. Where do you think the substance of which you are made comes from?" "I never thought of that," said Margaret. "It comes nearly all from your food. When you eat your dinner, part of that dinner goes to make you warm, and give you strength to move; part to make you fat, part to make bone, and part to make blood. When the food is properly cooked, it is more likely to do what is required of it straight away, and without any difficulty; but when it is badly cooked, it is kept from doing its work, and people say, 'it does not digest as it should:' that means that it brings illness and pain instead of strength and health. This is why we ought to learn to cook, because, by doing so, those we live with will be stronger and better for it. "Meat is a very important part of food. Now, meat is made up of fat and lean. Fat makes you warm, and gives you strength to move. Lean chiefly goes to make flesh. In all lean meat there is a substance called albumen, and it is this albumen which I want you to learn about to-day." "What is albumen like, please, said Mary. "If we could see it as it is, we should discover that it is like white of egg: indeed, the white of egg is nearly pure albumen. Watch me break an egg into this cup. I tap one side of the egg smartly on the edge of the cup to crack it. Then I take the egg in both hands, hold it crack downwards over the cup, and quite close to it, and open it gently, as if it were a box that opened in the middle. You see, the egg has dropped softly into the cup, the yolk is firm, and the albumen is lying round it." "Let me try to do so," said Margaret. "You can each break an egg, but not into this cup. Remember that eggs must always be broken separately, not dropped one on the top of the other. Until you break the eggs you cannot be sure that they are good; and how sorry you would be if you were to get a bad one in with your good ones! All would be spoiled then. We must put the saucepan on the fire, too. We will take this wide shallow pan, and put water in it to cover the eggs. We let the water boil gently- the white of egg would be spread about if the water were boiling hard-and we add a few drops of vinegar, as this will help the white of egg to set. Now you may break your eggs." Very seriously the children made the attempt. Mary managed hers very well, but poor little Margaret broke her yolk, through dropping it from too great a height. "Never mind," said her mother, kindly. "We will put this egg aside; cook can use it later. Try once more." And on trying a second time Margaret was successful. "Now," said Mrs. Herbert, we will drop our eggs into the boiling water. We could do two at a time, keeping them at different sides of the pan. I will, however, poach mine first, because I want you to notice the change which takes place in the white part of the egg in the boiling water." took the cup, and let her egg slide slowly into the water. Instantly a sort of filmy milky look came upon it, and this gradually deepened until the whole of the white part looked as solid as china. "Now it is done. Let me take it out instantly, or it will be hard. Watch me, and notice how I do it. I take the egg up with an egg-slice, let it drain a minute on a cloth, wipe up the water which is in the bend of the slice (because we do not want to have a quantity of cool water with an egg), trim off the loose pieces of white from the egg, so as to make it neatly and evenly round, and slip the egg upon the toast. Let me see what you can do." Once more very seriously Margaret and Mary set to work, and this time they were both successful. "Capital!" said Mrs. Herbert. Now, can you tell me what the boiling water did to the white of egg, or albumen ?" "It made it hard," said Margaret. 66 "Exactly," replied her mother. "It is this which I want you to remember every time you begin to cook. It is one of the most important ideas that you need to get into your mind. It will keep coming up again and again, and upon your understanding this, and knowing how to act upon it, your success as small cooks will greatly depend." "What difference will it make if we do understand?" said Margaret. water. "It will show you the 'why' of a good many things. The albumen hardened in the boiling There is albumen in all sorts of food, especially in lean meat, fish, and poultry. If the albumen of white of egg hardened in water, the albumen in meat would harden in water. We don't like our food to be hard. If we were to let a large piece of meat get hard all the way through, how difficult it would be to eat it! our jaws would ache with the work." "I don't like meat that is hard," said Mary. "I don't care for meat at all. I like cakes," said Margaret; but her mother prudently took no notice. "When, therefore, we want meat to be tender, we make use of our knowledge that albumen becomes hard very quickly in boiling water, and we harden the albumen on the outside of the meat to make a sort of case to keep in the goodness. Just as the calico case of which your doll is made keeps in the sawdust, so the hardened albumen case outside the meat keeps in the goodness. Do you understand?" "I think I do," said Margaret, who had been listening very attentively. "Only I don't see why, as the meat is all put into boiling water, it does not become all case and no sawdust. I mean "I understand what you mean," said her mother. "I'll show you how to avoid that another day." (To be continued.) The children watched closely. Mrs. Herbert |