“Do you see that little motto over there?” asked Constance, pointing with her poised knife to a card, one of several hanging upon the wall of the kitchen. The one toward which she pointed was in dark blue letters upon a white ground. It read: “Forget It!”
“Yes, that is just exactly what I am forever doing,” was Mary’s petulant reply. “If I didn’t forget all the time I’d never have to forget at all, and if that isn’t the finest bit of Irish you’ve ever heard, please improve on it if you can.”
The laughter which floated out through the open door greeted Mrs. Carruth as she entered the packing room.
“May I share the joke?” she asked. “I’m sure it must be a good one, and rich as the odors floating out to tempt nose and palate. Cut it quickly, Honey; I know it must be chilled enough and it does smell so good. Mary, you are a master hand. M—mm—m! A veritable lump of delight, though still slightly warm,” she ended as Constance dropped into her mouth a square of the nut fudge she had just cut from the great mass covering the table.
“Sit down, Mumsey, dear, and be good, consequently happy, while we work like beavers. How does it chill so rapidly? Quick! Mary, you cut at that end while I work at this. We’ve pounds and pounds to get done this morning if we are to fill all the orders.”
For a few moments only the swift swish of the great knives as they cut the candy could be heard, now and again one girl or the other catching up a square upon the end of her knife and pausing just long enough to offer it to Mrs. Carruth. Presently all was cut, and as it lay cooling they set to work upon the next batch to be made, Mary cleaning the fudge kettle while Constance got out another for the walnut creams. Each kind of candy had its special cooking utensils, and no others were ever used for it. In a few minutes Constance had a second batch of candy bubbling upon her range, ready to turn over to Mary when she should have finished washing the kettles and other articles used in making the fudge.
“I came out to be useful; may I prove it?” asked Mrs. Carruth.
“Just sit and watch us work. That helps,” answered Mary, as she relieved Constance.
“Will you be just a heap happier if I let you help wrap the fudge in paraffin paper?” asked Constance as she nestled her head for a moment in her mother’s neck. “Eh? Will you? You busy body. Why can’t you let us do all the work and so win all the glory? I suspect you’re a terribly selfish mother; yes, I do. You needn’t protest. You won’t even let your girls, real own ones or adopted ones, make their sticky marks in this world in peace. You must come poking out here to buzz around in the hive and beg honey.”
“I don’t have to beg, for it is voluntarily given,” laughed Mrs. Carruth, kissing the soft cheek so close to her lips. “This kind I mean, and I know of none sweeter.”