“I wonder how Kitty is coming on?” said I to myself. “I hope she
will not let the puddings get all dried up.”
But, I felt too much in a hurry to go down and satisfy myself as to
the state of affairs in the kitchen; and took it for granted that
all was right.
A little while afterwards, I perceived an odor as of something
burning.
“What is that?” came instinctively from my lips. “If Kitty has let
the puddings burn!”
Quick as thought I turned from my room, and went gliding down
stairs. As I neared the kitchen, the smell of burned flour, or
pastry, grew stronger. All was silent below; and I approached in
silence. On entering Kitty’s domain, I perceived that lady seated in
front of the range, with a brown covered pamphlet novel held close
to her face, in the pages of which she was completely lost. I never
saw any one more entirely absorbed in a book. No sign of dinner was
any where to be seen. Upon the range was a kettle of water boiling
over into the fire, and from one of the ovens poured forth a dark
smoke, that told too plainly the ruin of my lemon puddings. And, to
cap all, the turkey, yet guiltless of fire or dripping pan, was upon
the floor, in possession of a strange cat, which had come in through
the open window. Bending over the still entranced cook, I read the
title of her book. It was “THE WANDERING JEW.”
“Kitty!” I don’t much wonder, now, at the start she gave, for I
presume there was not the zephyr’s softness in my voice.
“Oh, ma’am!” She caught her breath as her eyes rested upon the cat
and the turkey. “Indeed, ma’am!” And then she made a spring towards
puss, who, nimbly eluding her, passed out by the way through which
she had come in.
By this time I had jerked open the oven door, when there came
rushing out a cloud of smoke, which instantly filled the room. My
puddings were burned to a crisp!
As for the turkey, the cat had eaten off one side of the breast, and
it was no longer fit for the table.
“Well! this is fine work!” said I, in an angry, yet despairing
voice. “Fine work, upon my word!”
“Oh, ma’am!” Kitty interrupted me by saying, “I’ll run right off and
buy another turkey, and have it cooked in time. Indeed I will,
ma’am! And I’ll pay for it. It’s all my fault! oh dear! dear me! Now
don’t be angry, Mrs. Smith! I’ll have dinner all ready in time, and
no one will be any the wiser for this.”
“In time!” and I raised my finger towards the kitchen clock, the
hands of which marked the period of half past one. Two o’clock was
our regular dinner hour.
“Mercy!” ejaculated the frightened cook, as she sank back upon a
chair; “I thought it was only a little past eleven. I am sure it was
only eleven when I sat down just to read a page or two while the
puddings were in the oven!”
The truth was, the “Wandering Jew,” in the most exciting portion of
which she happened to be, proved too much for her imagination. Her
