They found Rehoboam as per schedule, and gave him the milk. They couldn’t help seeing that there was only a small piece of cold suet pudding, a little blackberry jam, and one thin slice of bacon in the larder.
When they got back we set to work on a cooking crusade; and isn’t there a delightful sense of freedom when you can do what you like in your own kitchen, with no Abigail oversighting your operations! We cooked some griskin, and made pastry and cakes, and put some eggs into pickle. (Do you know these? hard-boiled eggs shelled when cold and put into pickle vinegar; ready in a couple of days.)
Then when it got to within an hour of train time, the girls went down and lit Miss Primkins’ fire, taking down a scuttle of coals for the purpose; her outside coal-cellar being locked fortunately gave us an excuse for not using up hers. They also took some milk, three of my finest potatoes, and other things.
By the time the train arrived, and Miss Primkins was on a tired homeward walk, the kettle was singing on the hob; three floury potatoes—strained, but keeping hot in the saucepan—stood beside the kettle; the supper table was laid with cold griskin, a jam tart, and a small spice cake, while in the larder stood two sausage-rolls, a seed cake, and a jar containing three eggs in course of pickling.
Of course the girls couldn’t resist ticketing the things “Virginia made this, so be cautious! (Signed) Ursula,” and similar nonsense, hoping thereby to divert Miss Primkins from the bald truth, viz., that we were trying to smuggle something into a bare cupboard!
Then, after rounding up Rehoboam, and placing him on the hearthrug to give an air of social welcome, they locked the door, putting the key under the fourth flower-pot, and skipped up the hill again by the woodland path, as Miss Primkins turned into her little garden gate.
XIII
When the Surgeon Crossed the Hills
Of course, it seemed ridiculous for a sane and moderately well brought-up individual to dress herself to go out—and in a new hat, too—and, then, simply because her dog happened to tumble out of the window, to collapse on the hearthrug like an anæmic concertina, while she draped her head gracefully over the fender, with the plumes of the said new hat resting resignedly on the fire-irons.