Molly had made some mixture for croquettes early in the morning, going minutely over every detail with Marta, using cold veal with a slice of the boiled pork, chopped together very fine, in place of chicken. Some of the stock in which the veal was boiled, which was now a firm jelly, was used, and as there was no cream, Molly used half a gill of milk to the gill of stock, and an egg beaten; the milk and stock were stirred to the butter and flour (see recipe for [chicken croquettes]) and boiled till thick and smooth, the meat and seasoning then added, and when it was all hot, the beaten egg. After this was in, the mixture was only stirred one minute, and then taken off the fire, the object being to bring the whole to boiling-point, but not to curdle the egg. The mixture was put out on a dish and set to get cold and firm, and Marta told to make it into croquettes according to her recipe.
As Molly was very anxious that Marta should thoroughly master the art of making croquettes, she had intended to oversee the forming and frying of these, which were for her lunch; but Mrs. Framley’s visit had interfered, and when she went to the kitchen she found Marta had one croquette on paper in the colander and was fishing in the hot fat with her skimmer.
“What is the matter, Marta?” asked Molly, although she could guess what had happened.
Marta pointed to the top of the fat, which was covered with crumbs of meat, and lifted two empty shells of croquettes from it.
“I see what has happened, Marta, but don’t be discouraged. You have some mixture left, and you must do this over again for breakfast to-morrow. I can tell you the reason of this accident, and once we know the cause of a failure, it can easily be set right. Had it not been for that one perfect croquette I should have said that the fat might not have been hot enough; that is a frequent cause of croquettes bursting,—they have time to melt inside before the crust is formed, but in this case the fault has been in the size. You must have made them too large. Don’t you think that one, which is perfect, was smaller than the others?”
“Yes, it was. I was afraid that one was too small.”
“It was just right, you see, and after this I think you’ll know. Before you put that croquette mixture away, Marta, keep out a large tea-spoonful, and after luncheon I will come and make some balls for soup.”
The veal stock Molly had carefully skimmed and strained in the morning, and intended to have a white soup for dinner. There was about a quart of strong jelly. One pint she put aside. It was so valuable that she did not mean to use a tea-spoonful more than necessary; the pint, with half a pint of milk, would be all that was required for soup; but as she had neither asparagus tops nor mushrooms nor celery to put in it, and veal soup is apt to be a little insipid without, she decided on forcemeat balls, made in the following way: To a large tea-spoonful of croquette mixture she added one of finely chopped parsley, as much thyme as would go on the end of a penknife, and a dessert-spoonful of bread crumbs; she beat an egg, and used enough only to make the whole into a soft paste; this she seasoned rather highly with pepper and salt, and made into little balls not larger than marbles, and they were set away till wanted.
As the soup was one Marta could not be expected to make, Molly went into the kitchen herself, half an hour before dinner, to do it; indeed, although she had left the cooking to Marta pretty much, she could not risk Harry’s comfort by waiting for the dinner to straggle in as Marta would have had it. This seemed her chief failing, an inability to see the necessity of dishing up quickly. After she had cooked a thing well, she ran the risk of spoiling it by her slowness in getting it on the table. No mishap had yet occurred, because Molly was on hand to rescue; but white sauce was left in the saucepan with risk of burning, and vegetables, after they were dressed, the same; but Molly hoped that, in a few weeks, seeing the importance she herself attached to time might have its effect on Marta.
The pint of veal stock, flavored, it will be remembered, with the vegetables boiled in it the day before, was put on to boil, and in a small saucepan she put a table-spoonful of butter and a scant one of flour, and stirred them together till they bubbled. She allowed them to cook together for a minute, stirring all the time, and called Marta’s attention to the fact.