Then Henny would wake up, light a fresh candle, and stand waiting orders. She need never have waited, for she knew exactly what the order would be. It was always the same formula.
“Henny, go to the storehouse, and draw a jug of fresh cider, and cork it tight. Then take the bread tray, and get a quart of flour, and a quarter of a pound of lard, and a teaspoonful of salt, and bring all in here. And don’t forget the rolling board and pin, nor the hoe blade.”
These would all be brought, and then Henny, having carefully washed her hands, and set the clean hoe blade to heat before the fire, would stand up to the table upon which she had placed her kneading tray, and there she would knead and afterward roll out her hoe cake, and spread it on the heated hoe to bake before the fire. She would, in fact, bake three in succession, turning them carefully, and finally placing them near the fire as they were taken off the hoe, to be kept hot until all was ready. Lastly, she would carry away all the utensils used, bring the little table to the front of the fire, and place cider, glasses, hoe cakes and china plates from the corner cupboard upon it. And the aunt and niece would sit down and “take a snack,” as they called it—make a very hearty supper of very substantial food, as we should certainly say. What powers of digestion they must have had!
When they had feasted, Henny would finish what was left, clear and replace the table, replenish the fire from the wood pile outside the door, sweep the hearth, put up the fender, and bid her mistress good-night.
The aunt and niece would say their prayers, undress, and go to bed together.
This was the routine, observed every evening, that Rosemary enjoyed more than anything on the face of the earth, except—oh, yes! except going to the dancing school at Charlotte Hall, whither she was taken with her cousins at Oldfield twice a week.