On this special occasion, which proved to be nearly the last, my mind
was easy, for the simple reason that I was now independent of cookery
books. I had puzzled out all the elementary parts of the science for
myself, and had no misgivings on the subject of potatoes or even peas.
So confident was I, and vain, that I volunteered to make a curry for
breakfast. Such a savoury curry as it was, and it turned out to be all
that the heart of a hungry man could desire; so did the rice: I really
felt proud of that rice; each grain kept itself duly apart from its
fellow, and was as soft and white and plump as possible. Everything
went well, and I had plenty of assistants to carry in the substantial
breakfast as fast as it was ready: the coffee, toast, all the other
things had gone in; even the curry had been borne off amid many
compliments, and now it only remained for me to dish up the rice.

Imagine the scene. The bright pretty kitchen, with its large window
through which you could see the green hills around dotted with sheep;
the creek chattering along just outside, whilst close to the back door
loitered a crowd of fowls and ducks on the chance of fate sending them
something extra to eat. Beneath the large window, and just in front of
it, stood a large deal table, and it used to be my custom to transfer
the contents of the saucepans to the dishes at that convenient place.
Well, I emptied the rice into its dish, and gazed fondly at it for
a moment: any cook might have been proud of that beautiful heap of
snow-white grains. I had boiled a great quantity, more than necessary
it seemed, for although the dish was piled up almost as high as it would
hold, some rice yet remained in the saucepan.

Oh, that I had been content to leave it there! But no: with a certain
spasmodic frugality which has often been my bane, I shook the saucepan
vehemently, in order to dislodge some more of its contents into my
already full dish. As I did so, my treacherous wrist, strained by the
weight of the saucepan, gave way, and with the rapidity of a conjurer's
trick I found the great black saucepan seated,--yes, that is the only
word for it,--seated in the midst of my heap of rice, which was now
covered by fine black powder from its sooty outside. All the rice was
utterly and completely spoiled. I don't believe that five clean grains
were left in the dish There was nothing for it but to leave it to get
cold and then throw it all out for the fowls, who