mposition of any such dishes as we might choose; after which, certain
martyrs--namely, the aforesaid young man, and sundry of his friends and
associates--were to be allowed to join us, and, in case they were not
too fearful of consequences, to test the results of our efforts. Milly,
who had a regular engagement for the afternoon appointed, was not able
to aid in the culinary efforts, but pleaded, that, as she contributed a
sister, she might be allowed to join the later entertainment of the
evening. And the plea was considered all sufficient, for who would not
choose Milly when she might be had? So said Bessie Sandford, our
inseparable friend and intimate; and there was no dissenting voice
among the gay circle of girls.

She did not intend, however, to be without her share in the flesh-pots
which were to furnish the more substantial part of the entertainment;
and having a natural gift for cooking,--a faculty in which I was
altogether wanting,--she promised to prepare some dainty dish
beforehand, and send it as her share in the feast.

My last essay in that line had been in the shape of some gingerbread,
of which article of diet father was very fond, and I had exerted my
energies on his behalf. When it was presented at the Sunday-evening
tea-table, the family, excepting papa, contented themselves with
viewing it respectfully from a distance; even old Thomas, as he passed
the plate, regarding it doubtfully and askance.

Father heroically endeavored to taste it; but mother, whose regard for
his physical well-being outweighed even her consideration for my
feelings, protested; and, with an air of relief, he obeyed the
suggestion.

"What did you say it is? Ginger _bricks_?" asked Douglas.

I took no notice of this, but later bade Thomas take all the
gingerbread down-stairs.

"Yes, Miss," he answered, with an "I wouldn't care if I were you" sort
of an air; and the gingerbread disappeared. The next morning, however,
as I went to the store-room to execute some small order for mother, our
old cook confronted me.

"Miss Amy," she said, "whatever will I do with that gingerbread? There
isn't one in the kitchen will touch it, not even them b'ys; an' all's
mostly grist that comes to their mills."

"Oh, give it away to any one that comes," I answered indifferently, and
concealing, as I best might, my chagrin at this added mortification.

But later in the day, Allie and Daisy, returning from their walk with
mammy, rushed into