“First thing,” she explained, “is to get your fire good and hot. Then you add your scrap grease.”
“What is scrap grease?” Louise asked, greatly intrigued.
“Why, bless you, child, that’s the odds and ends of cookin’ that most folks throw away. Not me though. I make soap of it. Even if it ain’t so good smellin’ it’s better soap than you can buy.”
The girls looked over the rim of the steaming kettle and saw a quantity of bubbling fats. With surprising dexterity for one of her age, Mrs. Lear inserted a long-handled hoe-shaped paddle and stirred the mixture vigorously.
“Next thing ye do is to cook in the lye,” she instructed. “Then you let it cool off and slice it to any size you want. This mess’ll soon be ready.”
“And that’s all there is to making soap,” Penny said, a bit amazed in spite of herself.
“All but a little elbow grease and some git up and git!” the old lady chuckled. “Them two commodities are mighty scarce these days.”
While the girls watched, Mrs. Lear poured off the soap mixture. She would not allow them to help lest they burn themselves.
“I kin tell that you girls are all tuckered out,” she said when the task was finished. “Just put your horses in the barn and toss ’em some corn and hay. While you’re gone I’ll clean up these soap makin’ things and start a mess o’ victuals cookin’.”
Mrs. Lear waved a bony hand toward a large, unpainted outbuilding. Louise and Penny led their horses to it, opening the creaking old barn door somewhat cautiously. A sound they could not instantly identify greeted their ears.