Dolly heard in awed silence; and when dinner and breakfast had seen repeated animadversions of the like kind, she made up her mind again and took her measures. She went to her friend Mrs. Jersey, and asked her to teach her to make bread.
"To make bread!" the good housekeeper repeated in astonishment. "You, Miss Dolly? Can that be necessary?"
"Mother cannot eat poor bread," said Dolly simply. "And there is nobody but me to make it. I think I can learn, Mrs. Jersey; cannot I?"
The tears stood in the good woman's eyes. "But, my dear Miss Dolly," she began anxiously, "this is a serious matter. You do not look very strong. Who does the rest of the cooking? Pardon me for being so bold to ask; but I am concerned about you."
Therewith Dolly's own eyes became moist; however, it would never do to take that tone; so she shook off the feeling, and confessed she was the sole cook in her mother's establishment, and that for her mother's well-doing it was quite needful that what she eat should be good and palatable. And Dolly declared she would like to know how to do things, and be independent.
"You've got the realest sort of independence," said the housekeeper. "Well, my dear, come, and I'll teach you all you want to know."
There followed now a series of visits to the House, in which Mrs. Jersey thoroughly fulfilled her promise. In the kind housekeeper's room Dolly learned not only to make bread and biscuit, and everything else that can be concocted of flour, but she was taught how to cook a bit of beefsteak, how to broil a chicken, how to make omelettes and salads and a number of delicate French dishes; stews and soups and ragouts and no end of comfortable things. Dolly was in great earnest, therefore lost not a hint and never forgot a direction; she was quick and keen to learn; and Mrs. Jersey soon declared laughingly that she believed she was born to be a cook.
"And it goes great qualities to that, Miss Dolly," she said. "You needn't take it as low praise. There are people, no doubt, that are nothing but cooks; that's the fault of something else, I always believe. Whoever can be a real cook can be something better if he has a chance and a will."
"It seems to me, it is just common sense, Mrs. Jersey."
"I suppose you are not going to tell me that that grows on every bush? Yes, common sense has a great deal to do, no doubt; but one must have another sort of sense; one must know when a thing is right; and one must be able to tell the moment of time when it is right, and then one must be decided and quick to take it then and not let it have the other moment which would make it all wrong. Now, Miss Dolly, I see you know when to take off an omelette—and yet you couldn't tell me how you know."