Upon this invitation we all followed her up-
stairs, and through the dimly-lighted passage, to
the suite of rooms heretofore mentioned as having
been occupied by the late Mrs. Douglas. The
main room was large, air};-, and well-lighted.
Opening out of this were two smaller ones — a bed-
chamber and a dressing-room. The walls were of
a soft gray tint, and were hung with paintings,
engravings, and chromos. The carpet had a gray
ground, covered with vines of the trailing arbutus,
so perfect that, as our feet pressed them, we almost
expected the delicious fragrance of the cruslied
flowers to come stealing up from their mossy bed.
Window draperies, easy-chairs, and lounges were
of gray cretonne, relieved by glowing vines and
bright blossoms. All the furniture was of rose-
wood, massive and delicately carved. At the foot
of the bed stood a small crib, the lace curtains of
which were looped back with rose-colored ribbons.
By the side of the crib Alice paused, and, with
trembling voice, asked, "Did the baby die too?"
" O ves. Miss, before the mother. And it was the
118 COOKING AND CASTLE-BUILDING.
shock that killed her, I've no manner of doubt,"
answered Susannah. " You see that she was just
hanging, sort of even balance between life and
death, when the nurse announced thoughtlessly
that the child was dead. At that she gave a little
cry, and stretched out her arms, begging for her
baby ; and from that time she sank rapidly, sob-
bing and sighing, until she breathed her last.
Now, I think if her baby had lived, she wouldn't
have died." Susannah paused a moment, wiped
her eyes with the corner of her check apron, and
continued: "These bureau drawers. Miss Alice,
are packed full of the handsomest baby things you
ever saw. There are heaps and heaps of gossamer
flannels, tiny socks and dainty night-dresses, and
other things, all tucked and puffed with lace.
Poor, dear lamb, she used to sit there in the sun-
shine sewing and singing day after day — singing
in a low sweet voice a war])le of some sort, just fit
for a lullaby. And more than once I said to her,
' ]\Iiss Helen, I vrouldn't make so many of those
little things. It isn't a good sign?" Then she
would reply, with a blush, 'AVhy, I think it is a
very good sign indeed, Susannah. But go away
with your superstitions. I put no faith in signs
and omens.' And I don't think she believed a
word in any of the signs ; but, bless her dear
heart, they came true all the same. And I sup-
pose it was all for the best. For it matters little
AT DINNER. 119
to any of us whether we die to-day, or to-mor-
row, or in a few years. The end soon comes any-
how."
" Cousin Kate, w^hat is this?" interrupted Alice,
holding up a small, beautifully bound volume, on
the back of which, in letters of gold, was the
name — "Helen Douglas."
"That," I answered, ''is a memorial — a tribute
to the dead wife, written by the husband during
the first weeks of his liereavement. It contains
some beautiful things. Wouldn't you like to look
it over at your leisure?"
"Indeed, I should," was the reply; and Alice
tucked the l)ook under her arm, hugging it closely
to her side, as if she regarded it as a rare treasure,
while we followed Susannah to the drawinsr-room.
No sooner were the windows opened, and the
room filled with light and sunshine than Alix:e ex-
citedly exclaimed :
Page 49
Presented as published in 1880. Historical recipes may not meet modern food-safety standards. Cook from the modern interpretation, not the original instructions.
AI-modernized reading of the original text
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Upon this invitation we all followed her up-
stairs, and through the dimly-lighted passage, to
the suite of rooms heretofore mentioned as having
been occupied by the late Mrs. Douglas. The
main room was large, air};-, and well-lighted.
Opening out of this were two smaller ones — a bed-
chamber and a dressing-room. The walls were of
a soft gray tint, and were hung with paintings,
engravings, and chromos. The carpet had a gray
ground, covered with vines of the trailing arbutus,
so perfect that, as our feet pressed them, we almost
expected the delicious fragrance of the cruslied
flowers to come stealing up from their mossy bed.
Window draperies, easy-chairs, and lounges were
of gray cretonne, relieved by glowing vines and
bright blossoms. All the furniture was of rose-
wood, massive and delicately carved. At the foot
of the bed stood a small crib, the lace curtains of
which were looped back with rose-colored ribbons.
By the side of the crib Alice paused, and, with
trembling voice, asked, "Did the baby die too?"
" O ves. Miss, before the mother. And it was the
118 COOKING AND CASTLE-BUILDING.
shock that killed her, I've no manner of doubt,"
answered Susannah. " You see that she was just
hanging, sort of even balance between life and
death, when the nurse announced thoughtlessly
that the child was dead. At that she gave a little
cry, and stretched out her arms, begging for her
baby ; and from that time she sank rapidly, sob-
bing and sighing, until she breathed her last.
Now, I think if her baby had lived, she wouldn't
have died." Susannah paused a moment, wiped
her eyes with the corner of her check apron, and
continued: "These bureau drawers. Miss Alice,
are packed full of the handsomest baby things you
ever saw. There are heaps and heaps of gossamer
flannels, tiny socks and dainty night-dresses, and
other things, all tucked and puffed with lace.
Poor, dear lamb, she used to sit there in the sun-
shine sewing and singing day after day — singing
in a low sweet voice a war])le of some sort, just fit
for a lullaby. And more than once I said to her,
' ]\Iiss Helen, I vrouldn't make so many of those
little things. It isn't a good sign?" Then she
would reply, with a blush, 'AVhy, I think it is a
very good sign indeed, Susannah. But go away
with your superstitions. I put no faith in signs
and omens.' And I don't think she believed a
word in any of the signs ; but, bless her dear
heart, they came true all the same. And I sup-
pose it was all for the best. For it matters little
AT DINNER. 119
to any of us whether we die to-day, or to-mor-
row, or in a few years. The end soon comes any-
how."
" Cousin Kate, w^hat is this?" interrupted Alice,
holding up a small, beautifully bound volume, on
the back of which, in letters of gold, was the
name — "Helen Douglas."
"That," I answered, ''is a memorial — a tribute
to the dead wife, written by the husband during
the first weeks of his liereavement. It contains
some beautiful things. Wouldn't you like to look
it over at your leisure?"
"Indeed, I should," was the reply; and Alice
tucked the l)ook under her arm, hugging it closely
to her side, as if she regarded it as a rare treasure,
while we followed Susannah to the drawinsr-room.
No sooner were the windows opened, and the
room filled with light and sunshine than Alix:e ex-
citedly exclaimed :