“For a walk,” replied Paul, laconically, and a certain note in his voice warned Carl that it would be wiser not to refer to the delicate subject again.
[CHAPTER VI—A REBEL IN THE HOUSE]
“You take a tablespoonful of butter, a pound of sugar, half a teaspoonful each of cinnamon and all-spice, a pound of raisins, and a cupful of molasses,” said Aunt Gertrude timidly, reading from the yellowed pages of the century-old book of recipes, in which were traced in brown ink, and in the quaint, tremulous handwriting of old Johann Winkler himself, the secret formulas of the “King of Bakers.” Then she closed the book.
“And now, my dear, I have to show you the rest.”
Paul submitted to his instructions meekly enough but nevertheless his aunt felt singularly at a loss with this strange pupil on her hands, and she had her own grave doubts as to whether the culinary genius of the Winklers really lay dormant in him at all.
On that bright, windy afternoon, aunt and nephew were closeted in the room off the kitchen, which was called the Mixing Room. It was here that the book of recipes was kept, and here that the bread and cakes were mixed, according to the time-honored tradition of secrecy. No one had the right of entry without Mrs. Lambert’s permission, and that permission was never given while she was engaged in preparing her doughs and batters. It was a cheerful little room, snug and warm, lined with the old, well polished cupboards in which the tins of spices and dried fruits and crocks of mysterious, delicious mixtures were kept safely locked. Seated at the table, was plump, rosy, beautiful Aunt Gertrude, full of the importance of her business, but a trifle uncertain of her six-foot disciple, who, shrouded in a great white apron, and with his sleeves rolled up on his muscular, brown arms, stood soberly measuring out flour and sugar with hands that looked better fitted for a lumber camp.
But little by little, as the lessons progressed, Paul became less austere; and as he unbent, Aunt Gertrude regained her natural jollity; until she actually dared to tease him.
“What a frown! You will frighten all my customers away,” she said, gaily, peeping up into his swarthy face. “You must practice how to look very cheerful.”
“Must I? Well, how is this?” And Paul promptly expanded his mouth into the empty grin of a comic mask. “Only I can’t remember to grin while I count out spoonfuls of cinnamon. It’s like trying to pat your head and rub your stomach at the same time.”
“In a little while you won’t have to think so hard while you are measuring your ingredients. I do it by instinct,” said Aunt Gertrude, proudly. And Paul smiled at her air of naive vanity.