slated by Jane G. Cooke, for 'A Library of The World's
Best Literature.'

THEIR LAST EXCURSION

From 'Making an Omelette': from Lippincott's Magazine, 1871,
copyrighted

In this strange, rude interior, how refined and delicate Louise
looked, with all her dainty appointments of long undressed kid gloves,
jaunty boots, and looped-up petticoat! While I talked to the
wood-cutters she shielded her face from the fire with her hands, and
kept her eye on the butter beginning to sing in the pan.

Suddenly she rose, and taking the pan-handle from the old woman, said,
"Let me help you make the omelette, will you?" The good woman let go
with a smile, and Louise found herself alone, in the attitude of a
fisherman who has just had a nibble. She stood in the full light of
the fire, her eyes fixed on the melted butter, her arms tense with
effort; she was biting her lips, probably in order to increase her
strength.

"It's rather hard on madame's little hands," said the old man. "I bet
it's the first time you ever made an omelette in a wood-cutter's
hut--isn't it, my young lady?"

Louise nodded yes, without turning her eyes from the omelette.

"The eggs! the eggs!" she suddenly exclaimed, with such a look of
uneasiness that we all burst out laughing--"hurry with the eggs! The
butter is all puffing up! Be quick--or I can't answer for the
consequences."

The old woman beat the eggs energetically.

"The herbs!" cried the old man. "The lard and salt!" cried the young
ones. And they all set to work chopping, cutting, piling up, while
Louise, stamping with excitement, called out, "Make haste! make
haste!" Then there was a tremendous bubbling in the pan, and the great
work began. We were all round the fire, gazing with an anxious
interest inspired by our all having had a finger in the pie.

The old woman, on her knees beside a large dish, slipped a knife under
the edge of the omelette, which was turning a fine brown. "Now,
madame, you've only got to turn it over," she said.

"Just one little quick blow," suggested the old man.

"Mustn't be violent," counseled the young one.

"All at once; tip with it, dear!" I said.

"If you all talk at once--"

"Make haste, madame!"

"If you all talk at once I never shall manage it. It is too awfully
heavy."

"One quick little blow."

"But I can't; it's going over. Oh gracious!"

In the heat of action, her hood had fallen off. Her cheeks were like a
peach, her eyes shone, a