"And what are you making now?"
"Soft gingerbread. It's just ready to pop into the oven, and then I can go into the living-room with you and we'll visit in state."
"Don't, Bettina. I'd much rather talk in your shining little kitchen with the kettle bubbling on the hearth (only it's a gas stove and you won't let it bubble long if you think of your gas bill). 'Kitchen Konfidences!' What a name for a nice little domestic science book!"
"Well, we'll stay in the kitchen then, and exchange kitchen konfidences. Where have you been this afternoon in your big woolly coat?"
"Down town to the market. And I did get something besides food—a small purchase that you advised me to buy. A box of labels—plain label stickers, you know—to stick on the boxes that I put away—out of season things and all that. I've noticed how neatly all your stored-away things are labeled."
"It saves so much time in finding things. And a label looks better than writing on the box, for the labels are white and very often the box is dark pasteboard, and pencil marks are difficult to see."
"Well, good-bye, Betty dear, I must run along now."
Bettina's menu that night consisted of:
Lamb Stew
Apple Sauce Rolls
Gingerbread
Coffee