So I lit gas stove, took out recipe book, flour, sugar, apples & other nourishments and with immediate quickness I began stewing things what smelled like a banquet.
At noon time Hon. Mrs Madam come to table and set down, as usual, with forceable-feeding expression.
I put Hon. Soup befront of her. She startle.
“What food is this which smell so disobediently fragrant?” she ask out.
“Tometoes soup six inches thick & full of fatty nourishment,” I rake off.
“I refuse to eat such!” she yellup—and before I could took it away she had assimilated it entirely with spoon.
Next dish were turkey hash escorted by fried potatus, cinnamoney rolls, jelly & baked bean.
“I shall scold you!” she commence, but could not do so because she was too busy forking that food with considerable smacks.
And so onward through complete programme of vegetables until she reach apple dumpling & 2 cups chocolate.