“There’s no doubt, then, it is thoroughly flavoured; it must have been my taste,” said the doctor, dryly. “I’m almost sorry I have been told, for there is such a charm about the unknown. Do you remember what cook said about her pumpkin pie, when your mother asked her receipt? ‘Shure, there’s milk, an’ there’s eggs an’ there’s some punkin, but after all, it’s principally ingrejiencies.’ Your ice-cream is really delicious, but if I were asked my candid opinion I should say it was principally ingrejiences.”
“May Zaidee and I have it all, then, mamma,” asked Helen, eagerly, “if no one else wants it?” The twins had been eating up mamma’s and auntie’s cream with great relish. “We think it’s good.”
“Let them have all they want,” the doctor answered, laughing. “I’m sure the amount of peppermint and wintergreen will counteract any possible ill effect of so much cold.”
The older children were much disappointed, but bore it very well. The combination of lemon extract and bitter-almond might have been endured, but Cricket’s generous addition was altogether too much.
Archie and Will put their heads together for a few minutes, and then Archie mounted a hassock and asked for attention.
“Now, mamma,” interrupted Eunice, “I know he is going to say something horrid. Make him stop.”
“It isn’t horrid, ma’am, it’s poetic genius, that’s all.”
“Who flavoured up our nice ice-cream,
With lemon-essence by the ream?
Marjorie.”