"I've certainly spoilt my beauty—what there was of it! And I've had a most dreadful fright, too!" she remarked.
"It was my fault!" quavered Aldred, who was horror-stricken at the accident. "I'd no idea the flame would rush out in front. You might have lost your sight!"
"Well, it can't be helped now," said Dora, with good-tempered philosophy. "We'd better keep this little episode as quiet as we can. I only hope Miss Drummond won't notice my eyebrows, and ask what I've been doing to them. We'll never try such a silly thing again, though it was very efficacious—the fire's blazing away hard. What about the jam? Can you look after it, Aldred? You said you knew how. Mabel and I will make some potato cakes, and some scones."
After the failure of the soup and the bread sauce, Aldred's supreme confidence in her powers was rather shaken; but she would not confess as much to her companions, and readily undertook to superintend the preserving. The blackberries were waiting in the basket, and the pounds of sugar had been smuggled in that morning by the cook, and were concealed under towels in a drawer.
Aldred wished now that she had not refused Miss Reade's recipe. There was no printed cookery book at the cottage, as the girls were not supposed to try experiments, but to carry out what they had learned in class, the instructions being written down in their notebooks.
"Still, jam really isn't difficult," she reflected. "There are no horrid seasonings and flavourings, only the fruit and the sugar. I don't see how I can go wrong over this; I've seen Aunt Bertha make it dozens of times!"
She set to work very providently and systematically. First she found the jam pots, wiped them, and placed them in readiness, then got the big brass pan and rubbed it carefully with butter, to make sure that not the slightest particle of verdigris could be left in it. She felt quite proud of herself for thus remembering her aunt's methodical ways. Next she measured the blackberries with a pint mug, and found that there were nearly five quarts, therefore four pounds of sugar would be just enough.
"I'll put the sugar in first," she thought, "and then, when it's boiling, drop in the fruit, like Aunt Bertha does. It keeps the blackberries whole, instead of letting them go squashy."
So on went the pan, and Aldred, armed with a big wooden spoon, stirred vigorously, wondering why the sugar did not begin to turn into a soft syrup, such as she had seen at home.
"There's a queer smell from somewhere!" exclaimed Mabel, who was at the table concocting potato cakes. "Is anything burning?"