iping of the fender and fire-irons. After the washing-up had been
successfully accomplished, and the stove stoked, and the damper turned
to heat the oven, the girls sallied forth with baskets to the
kitchen-garden, to pick fruit and vegetables. Aldred, who was determined
to concoct what she imagined to be a really French soup, made a
selection of almost every herb she could find--sage, sweet marjoram,
thyme, fennel, chervil, sorrel, and parsley, as well as lettuces, leeks,
and a few artichokes.

"It shall be exactly like what Madame Pontier described to Aunt Bertha,"
she thought; "and I won't forget the _soupcon_ of vinegar and olive oil,
which she said was so indispensable. Miss Drummond will be quite amazed
when she hears I've evolved it myself. I suppose some people have a
natural talent for cooking, the same as they have for painting. Who
first thought of all the recipes in the cookery books, I wonder? It's
far more interesting to try something original than to make the same
stew as we had last week with Miss Reade."

Mabel and Dora had hurried back with their baskets, and when Aldred,
having secured her miscellaneous collection, followed them leisurely to
the cottage, she found them already hard at work, disjointing chops,
cutting up carrots and turnips, slicing beans, and peeling potatoes.

"We want to get the meat on in good time, and let it cook gently,"
announced Mabel; "then we can turn our attention to the sweets. Would
you rather make the blancmange or the pastry?"

"I don't care much about either, if you and Dora want to make them,"
said Aldred. "I shall have quite enough with the soup and the bread
sauce. I might look after the vegetables, if you like."

As the others agreed to this division of labour, Aldred retired to the
scullery, and started operations. There was a small oil cooker here,
which she thought she had better use, as there would not be room for
everything on the kitchen stove. She chopped up all her various herbs,
put them into a pan with some water, and then began to consider the
question of seasonings.

"Even Aunt Bertha admitted that French people are cleverer than English
at flavourings," she thought. "Madame Pontier said there ought to be a
dash of so many things. I'll try a combination of all sorts of spices,
not just plain pepper and salt." So in went a stick of cinnamon, a blade
of mace, a few cloves, a teaspoonful of ginger, some grated nutmeg, and
some caraway seeds. Aldred h