“This is for Milly’s fall frock; it was first my dress, then Lily’s, now it comes to Milly, and the red will make a change.”
“You have far more patience than I,” said Molly.
“Yes, I don’t know what I should do without it. Must the cooking begin now? I hate to lose daylight.”
“Yes, the pot-pie will take long, slow cooking to be good, but you can come back in half an hour.”
“Oh! suppose we have that steak fried—just for to-day; well pounded it will be tender enough. I hate to leave this.”
“I will go down, then, if you will let one of the little girls show me where you keep things.”
“Oh, no; I can’t let you!” said Mrs. Lennox. “But that is just it; don’t you see yourself I have no time to cook?”
Molly longed to say that it seemed as important to her that the food should be well prepared as that the flounce should be feather-stitched, but of course, she said nothing, and the next minute they were down in Mrs. Lennox’s neat kitchen.
“This pot-pie I propose making is an English dish my father was very fond of, and it is a little different from our dish of that name.”
“This is very kind of you, Mrs. Bishop. I only fear you will see what an up-hill business it is to make a family live well on very little money.”