er found a dish-cloth and swabbed off the top of the stove
preparatory to laying on the dough; for we thought of our sweethearts,
and our mothers and sisters, and could not endure the idea of dirty
cookery! Then we spread out the ready paste flat on the place appointed
to receive it, where it went to cooking at once with most obliging
promptitude. We sat around the stove, on the wood-pile, on chairs, on
stools, on baby's cradle, on the floor.

Another crowd, having no pecuniary interest in the transaction, formed
an outer circle, accommodated with standees. All watched the growing
prodigy in silence and with greedy eyes. First it began to brown around
the edges. Then it began to puff up. After that the swelling went down
again, leaving the surface all wrinkled like the face of a monkey. Then
a fine smoke rose from it, as it were, incense. Could it be "done"? and
was this the sign from the gods? Perhaps; at any rate it was the sign
of something; probably the sign of scorching on the under side. Then it
ought to be turned. But how turned? Ah, how, indeed! It had been easy
to spread it on--but the turning!

"Facilis descensus Averni;
Noctes atque dies patet atri janua Ditis;
Sed revocare gradum, superasque evadere ad auras,
Hoc opus, his labor est."

A knife was brought; too short and too narrow. A spoon; better, but
still inadequate. An outsider suggested that all hands lay hold of the
thing on one side and flop it over suddenly. But the jealous
proprietors demurred, fearing that the movement might not be
simultaneous and that thus a flap-jack rupture might ensue, followed by
possible skedaddling of the shrewd operators bearing off the spoil.
Meanwhile the smoke was alarmingly on the increase and something must
be done at once. While we were in this quandary, the principal partner
in the concern, a long, lank fellow with tong-like fingers, in a fit of
desperation seized the thing in one hand with an old rag, and over it
went k-e-r-f-l-o-p! The danger was past, and we congratulated the
skillful operator and one another on the auspicious result. Mr.
Flapjack after that proceeded soberly to do himself brown, whereupon we
all partook, smearing each mouthful with molasses which a miraculous
cupboard furnished, and pronounced it good--in fact excellent. At home
not one of us but would as soon think of eating the stove itself, both
as to cleanliness and digestibility.

While we were recuperating