THE KOROWAI
There were great doings in the little boy’s house. Grandmother was standing at the long table beating up the dough of the korowai for the eldest sister’s wedding, for grandmother was greatly skilled in the making of wedding-cakes. No part of the wedding-feast is so important as the korowai, and the little boy watched with great interest as she mixed together the flour and eggs and lard, the molasses and fruit, the saffron and the savory seeds that go to make korowai. He was surprised and somewhat disappointed when, instead of putting it into the oven to bake, she spread a cloth over the great bowl and set it on a chair by the stove. He was impatient to have it baked, it smelled so nice already!
“Aren’t you going to bake it, grandmother?” he asked.
“Not just yet,” she answered. “It must rise first.”
She went away to her room, giving strict injunctions to be called as soon as the dough was risen enough.
The little boy did not follow her. Other things were being done in his mother’s room: vegetables and apples were being pared, pork roasted, sausages stuffed—it was very exciting. Some of the neighbor-women had come to help, and the little boy was under everybody’s feet at once.
“Run away, little boy,” said the mother; “go ask grandmother to tell you a story.”
Grandmother was quite ready. She was not spinning, she was only resting, for she had long been on her feet over the korowai. So everything was favorable for the story of