Ch. 1 - Christie - Page 2

offered as an illustration.

"I see what you mean, Kitty; but I never thought on't before. You be
better riz than me; though, let me tell you, too much emptins makes
bread poor stuff, like baker's trash; and too much workin' up makes
it hard and dry. Now fly 'round, for the big oven is most het, and
this cake takes a sight of time in the mixin'."

"You haven't said I might go, Aunty," began the girl, after a long
pause devoted by the old lady to the preparation of some compound
which seemed to require great nicety of measurement in its
ingredients; for when she replied, Aunt Betsey curiously interlarded
her speech with audible directions to herself from the receipt-book
before her.

AUNT BETSEY'S INTERLARDED SPEECH.

"I ain't no right to keep you, dear, ef you choose to take (a pinch
of salt). I'm sorry you ain't happy, and think you might be ef you'd
only (beat six eggs, yolks and whites together). But ef you can't,
and feel that you need (two cups of sugar), only speak to Uncle, and
ef he says (a squeeze of fresh lemon), go, my dear, and take my
blessin' with you (not forgettin' to cover with a piece of paper)."

Christie's laugh echoed through the kitchen; and the old lady smiled
benignly, quite unconscious of the cause of the girl's merriment.

"I shall ask Uncle to-night, and I know he won't object. Then I
shall write to see if Mrs. Flint has a room for me, where I can stay
till I get something to do. There is plenty of work in the world,
and I'm not afraid of it; so you'll soon hear good news of me.
Don't look sad, for you know I never could forget you, even if I
should become the greatest lady in the land." And Christie left the
prints of two floury but affectionate hands on the old lady's
shoulders, as she kissed the wrinkled face that had never worn a
frown to her.

Full of hopeful fancies, Christie salted the pans and buttered the
dough in pleasant forgetfulness of all mundane affairs, and the
ludicrous dismay of Aunt Betsey, who followed her about rectifying
her mistakes, and watching over her as if this sudden absence of
mind had roused suspicions of her sanity.

"Uncle, I want to go away, and get my own living, if you please,"
was Christie's abrupt beginning, as they sat round the evening fire.

"Hey! what's that?" said Uncle Enos, rousing from the doze he was
enjoying, with a candle in perilous proximity to his newspaper and
his nose.

Christie repeated her request, and was much relieved, when, after a
meditative stare, the old man briefly answered:

"Wal, go ahead."

"I was afraid you might think it rash or silly, sir."

"I think it's the