“There’s a way to make a crust, if the poor souls only knew it,” said Aunt Mercy, “that’s real wholesome and good for boiled crust and very cheap. It’s just to scald the flour till it’s soft enough to roll out, and put in a little salt. And another way, that’s most as cheap, and better, is to work flour into hot mashed potatoes, till it makes a crust that will roll out.”
The next time there was a barrel of “windfall” apples to go, Tiny and Johnny came to Aunt Mercy, each with a sheet of foolscap paper and a sharp lead pencil, and Tiny said, “Aunt Mercy, will thee please tell us, quite slowly, those two cheap ways to make apple-dumpling crust?”
So Aunt Mercy gave out the recipes as if they were a school dictation, and each of her scholars made twelve copies. It took a long time, and was a tiresome piece of work, but it was a fine thing when it was done!
The twenty-four copies were put in a large yellow envelope, addressed to “Mr. Thorpe,” and Johnny added a note, in the best hand he had left, after all that writing,—
“Dear Mr. Thorpe,—Will you please put one of these recipe papers with each batch of apples you give away? They are all right.
“Very respectfully,
“T. & J.”
This was the beginning of a most interesting correspondence. When Uncle Isaac came home the next evening, he brought an envelope addressed to “T. and J.,” and inside was a card, with “John Thorpe” on one side of it, and on the other, in a clear, firm hand,—
“God bless you both, my dear T. and J. You will never know how many sad lives you have gladdened, this summer. Is there any moss in your land of plenty? Have any of your wild-flowers roots? And may I not know your names?”