'Well, it do be a pity, Miss Lilian,' said that sympathizing damsel. 'But there, don't take on so! We can cut off that black part at the bottom, and put the rest down with some vegetables. Happen it'll turn out all right after all. There'll be just time afore dinner,' chopping away as she spoke in a vigorous onslaught on the carrots and onions.
It was Saturday, so the children were at home, but even their healthy appetites were not equal to the very untempting dish which was set before them, for the unfortunate veal had boiled away to ribbons, and all the goodness had gone into the lost gravy, while the pulpy remains tasted so hopelessly burnt as to be perfectly uneatable.
'The vegetables are quite nice, at any rate,' began Father cheerfully; then seeing Lilian's swimming eyes: 'Never mind, little woman; experience is always dearly bought, and a vegetarian dinner won't hurt us for once in a way. We must make out with home produce until the butcher comes again. There's a young cockerel that will do for Sunday, and perhaps I can shoot you a rabbit; and we can always fall back upon eggs and bacon, at any rate, if there is nothing else to be had. Cheer up! I don't expect to find a full-fledged housekeeper in five minutes!'
After this Lilian determined to provide more generously, and astonished the grocer by ordering three pounds of cayenne pepper, and a like quantity of mace (embarrassing possessions which lingered in the spice-cupboard for years before they were eventually finished), and generally running the household on so liberal a scale that Father had to interfere and preach economy. Such very Spartan fare was the result of his lecture that he wisely fixed her a weekly allowance, and left her to manage as best she could upon it, and this plan answered far better, for she had a natural aptitude for arithmetic, and soon learned to make the various items fall into their proper places, balancing her little account-book in quite a professional manner.
About this time, too, Lilian took to poring over the 'Ladies' Column' in the newspaper, and trying the various recipes which were given therein. Some of them were very successful, and—especially the cakes—were much appreciated by the children, though others did not turn out quite what she had expected, in which case it is only charitable to suppose the oven was at fault.
'There's a splendid one here, Nancy,' she announced one day, 'under the heading of "What to do with your Cold Mutton." You mince it all up with herbs, and make it into a kind of pasty, and it sounds most delicious. It says, "First take a couple of onions." By-the-by, did Joe bring in any onions this morning? Those in the basket are all finished.'
'No, Miss; Joe, he's never been near to-day, though there's master's shooting-boots waiting for him to clean.'
'Oh, then do run down, Nancy, please, and ask him to dig up a few, while I put the meat through the mincing-machine. You'll very likely find him in the orchard or the stackyard.'
Nancy soon returned flushed and out of breath, with a full apron.
'I couldn't find Joe nowheres,' she panted. 'But he'd put these down in the harness-room, so I just took them. Shall I chop them up for you now?'