Philippina screwed her mouth into a knot on hearing a woman ten years her junior call her a child; she looked at Dorothea from head to foot.
Dorothea scarcely noticed her. “Just imagine, Philippin’, the cook didn’t come to-day, so I thought I would try my own hand,” said Dorothea with glib gravity, “but I don’t know, the soup meat is still as hard as a rock. Won’t you come and see what’s the matter?” She took Philippina into the kitchen.
“Ah, you’ve got to have a lid on the pot, and what’s more, that ain’t a regular fire,” remarked Philippina superciliously.
Dorothea had already turned to something else. She had found a glass of preserved fruit, had opened it, taken a long-handled spoon, dived into it, put the spoon to her mouth, and was licking away for dear life. “Tastes good,” she said, “tastes like lemon. Try it, Philippin’.” She held the spoon to Philippina’s lips so that she could try it. Philippina thrust the spoon rudely to one side.
“No, no, you have got to try it. I insist. Taste it!” continued Dorothea, and poked the spoon tightly against Philippina’s lips. “I insist, I insist,” she repeated, half beseechingly, half in the tone of a command, so that Philippina, who somehow or other could not find her veteran power of resistance, and in order to have peace, let the spoon be shoved into her mouth.
Just then old Jordan came out into the hall, and with him the chimney-sweeper who wished to clean the chimney.
“Herr Inspector, Herr Inspector,” cried Dorothea, laughing; and when the old man followed her call, she gave him a spoonful, too. The chimney-sweep likewise; he had to have his. And last but not least came Agnes.
They all laughed; a faint smile even ventured across Agnes’s pale face, while Daniel, frightened from his room by the hubbub, came out and stood in the kitchen door and laughed with the rest.
“Do you see, Daniel, do you see? They all eat out of my hand,” said Dorothea contentedly. “They all eat out of my hand. That’s the way I like to have things. To your health, folks!”