I lifted up the lid quickly and saw some milk, butter, eggs, and three apples.
“Give me the eggs,” she said; “while I break them, you peel the apples.”
While I cut the apples into slices, she broke the eggs into the flour and began to beat the mixture, adding a little milk from time to time. When the paste was well beaten she placed the big earthenware bowl on the warm cinders, for it was not until supper time that we were to have the pancakes and fritters. I must say frankly that it was a very long day, and more than once I lifted up the cloth that she had thrown over the bowl.
“You’ll make the paste cold,” she cried; “and it won’t rise well.”
But it was rising well, little bubbles were coming up on the top. And the eggs and milk were beginning to smell good.
“Go and chop some wood,” Mother Barberin said; “we need a good clear fire.”
At last the candle was lit.
“Put the wood on the fire!”
She did not have to say this twice; I had been waiting impatiently to hear these words. Soon a bright flame leaped up the chimney and the light from the fire lit up all the kitchen. Then Mother Barberin took down the frying pan from its hook and placed it on the fire.
“Give me the butter!”