“Oh, not a pound—half a pound at first,” interrupted Julia.
“It’s a great deal better to begin by melting your butter, and then put in a pint of milk,” added Ruth.
“I never use any milk,” interposed Clarissa.
“Then you let it simmer half an hour,” resumed Polly.
“Oh, there isn’t any fixed length of time,” cried Ruth again; “just let it cook until it’s done.”
“How do you know when it’s done?”
Then followed a Babel of voices, as each one told what she thought the proper test; and a listener, I fear, who knew nothing of fudge-making, would have had hard work to select a working receipt from the directions given by these merry girls.
By the time the fudge was ready the ball had been set rolling, and it was evident that Clarissa’s party was a success. While Ruth and Lois were superintending a second chafing-dish, in which a rarebit was preparing, Polly picked up a guitar and began to accompany herself, as she sang the opening lines of one of the Radcliffe classics, “The Mermaid.”
“That’s just the thing to cheer us up.”
“As if you needed cheering! But here it is!” And Polly struck the chords with a firm hand, as she sang about the little mermaid who