“Really? I think I understand the comprehensive scheme, but I slip up on the details, as when I tried to submerge that wooden pail. What’s the fire for?”
“To burn out what remains of the soft inside wood, so as to leave only the hard outside shell. Then the charring of the inner surface is supposed to make the leach better—more water-tight, perhaps.”
“Quite so. Then it is hauled in and set up?”
“Yes; and gradually filled with ashes. When it is full, we pour the water in it, and catch the lye as it drips out. This is put in the caldron with grease, pigskins, and that sort of thing, and when it boils long enough, the result is soft soap.”
“And if you boil it too long, what is the result?”
“Hard soap, I suppose. I never boil it too long.”
The conversation was here interrupted by a hissing in the fire, caused by the tumultuous boiling over of the soap. Kitty hurriedly threw in a basin of cold lye, and stirred the mixture vigorously.
“You see,” she said reproachfully, “the result of keeping me talking nonsense to you. Now you will have to make up for it by bringing in some wood and putting more water into the leach.”
“With the utmost pleasure,” cried Yates, springing to his feet. “It is a delight to atone for a fault by obeying your commands.”
The girl laughed. “Buttonwood,” she said. Before Yates could think of anything to say in reply Mrs. Bartlett appeared at the back door.