Living on a Little

CHAPTER VIII
The Game of Menus

"Now for our game," said Mrs. Thorne, after looking in the refrigerator the next day. "I have been thinking about what it is like, and I have decided that it is not so much like chess or whist as it is like anagrams. But though it may not be as great an intellectual feat to master it as though it were one of the famous games, it takes brains, nevertheless. So take heart and try and learn it."

She took one sheet of paper and gave Dolly another, and went on.

"You know already that the refrigerator plays a large part in our housekeeping and we must be guided in our planning by what we find there morning by morning. But still there is always a place for new dishes after combining the old ones. So first we see what we have and then decide what will best go with it."

"Do you always write down what you are going to have? Why?"

"Oh, no, of course I do not write every meal down, but I keep a lot of possible menus on hand and turn to them for inspiration when I feel stupid. Or if I have a maid, I hand her over a few and have her follow them, and so be sure – that is, tolerably sure – that the meal will come out as I planned it. Besides these good reasons, there are more which apply especially to you. One is that when you have once learned to make up menus rapidly, you will save yourself a lot of mental storm and stress. Often young housekeepers groan over thinking out meals, especially dinners, of course, since they are the most difficult, and declare that they have had every known meat and vegetable again and again. Instead of that sort of thing, if they had at hand a number of dinners written down, they could select one and save bothering.

"And one thing more. You might often go on having the same thing over and over without realizing it. Now, in writing down the dinners for a week at a time you soon see if you are repeating yourself. If the words 'beef stew,' for instance, appear frequently you presently grasp the idea that you are having too much of that festal dish, whereas if you did not see the words in black and white, you might not guess it."

"I still do not see how you can plan a second day's meals at the same time you plan the first day's, unless you can gauge with accuracy the size of the family's appetites. Suppose some night, instead of each one's taking one helping of meat all around, we should all take two helpings; that would smash your written menu to bits."

"Yes, of course it would, and such things have happened. But written menus are not binding contracts, but only suggestions, and when you and Dick recklessly eat up all the meat between you some night, – personally I should know better than to join you in your extravagance, – then you will have to modify your next day's menu and either plan a new meal or substitute something else for the meat you had arranged for. But still you will find written menus a great help if you use them sensibly and do not feel bound to follow them literally. Now let us begin to play the game. You write down a dinner for to-night, and then I will undertake the thankless task of criticizing it."

Dolly gazed thoughtfully at the chandelier a few moments and then wrote rapidly. Presently she read glibly:

"Potato soup

Lamb pot pie with dumplings; boiled rice; macaroni and cheese

Tapioca pudding

Coffee."

Mrs. Thorne smiled. "Poor Fred! If that is the sort of meal you are arranging to give him, I think he had better stay where he is. Now think a minute. Potato soup first, and potatoes are starchy; next, boiled rice, dumplings and macaroni, – more starch; and last, tapioca pudding! Starchier and starchier, to parody Alice in Wonderland."

Dolly pouted. "Well, I am perfectly sure he would eat that dinner thankfully and say it was a good one. He would never know he was eating starch if you did not put it into his head. I think it is all nonsense to point such things out to a man, anyway; it makes him notional about his food."

"Later on he would wonder why on earth he had dyspepsia, my child. You would not like to have a dyspeptic husband, would you? People who have poor digestions are proverbially cross, you know, and too much starch is certain to ruin even the very best of stomachs in time.

"Now let me explain what I took it for granted you knew already. You must not have too much of any one ingredient in your food; not too much fat, or starch, or sugar or anything else, because it is not wholesome. The perfect dinner is like this: First a good soup; then meat with one green and one starchy vegetable; then a fresh vegetable salad dressed lightly with oil; then a very simple sweet; coffee last; or, omitting the sweet, coffee alone. Of course you and I cannot afford to have dinners like that all the year around, because green vegetables cost too much, but that is the ideal toward which we must strive. In place of the things we cannot have, we must have substitutes as nearly resembling them as may be. In summer, of course, it is the easiest thing in the world to have salads and green vegetables, and in winter we must do the best we can without them. Now try another menu, and do not mind my criticisms. And put a date on this one, so we can tell the time of year and see whether or not you are having the proper things; suppose you say this is a March dinner."

Dolly again consulted the chandelier, and after much study produced this result:

"Clear soup

Veal stew; mashed potatoes; canned string-beans

Prune pudding

Coffee."

"Better," said her sister doubtfully. "But don't you think veal would be pretty expensive in March? And why string-beans, when parsnips and salsify are plenty? And as to prune pudding, consider the egg whites!"

"Mary, you are too exasperating for words," ejaculated her much tried sister. "I am sure that was a beautiful menu. However, I'll try again. Still winter?"

"Yes, still winter."

"Well, here is a perfect one; absolutely faultless," Dolly said presently.

"Clear soup

Mutton and barley stew; potatoes; parsnip cakes

Deep apple tart

Coffee."

Her sister laughed outright. "This game evidently has more to it than you thought when you began to learn it, hasn't it? Now this menu has its good points, but I think you were rash in pronouncing it faultless. The clear soup is all right, provided you made it out of what you had in the house, and the mutton and barley stew is good and nourishing. But why have potatoes and barley at the same meal? You do not need them both. Instead, drop out the potatoes and have a dish of spiced fruit with the meat instead of a second vegetable. Or, omit the soup, have the stew first, and then a salad. As to dessert, unless it was a phenomenal apple year, I am afraid you would find deep apple tart would cost too much in March. However, that menu is an improvement on your other. Now make a second dinner off the remains of the first, if you can."

"That is worse still. I think we will eat the whole up one night, this time, and have no remains."

"If you do, you must have half-priced things the second night, then."

"Well, how is this?

"Mutton croquettes; mashed potatoes; minced turnips

Celery salad; crackers and cheese

Bread pudding with dates

Coffee."

"That does very well. I see you had no carrots and had to buy turnips, but they are cheap. Celery, however, I am afraid was rather expensive, wasn't it? Could you not have had shredded cabbage instead? And you really did not need crackers and cheese with it; you might have had them with coffee for dessert. But, you are learning. Now try another winter dinner, because they are most difficult of all."

Dolly wrote, after some thinking:

"Purée of dried lima bean soup

Rounds of pork tenderloin; minced carrots; potato balls

Cherry pie

Coffee."

"Fair; pretty good," commented her sister. "I see you plan to put the carrots and potato balls around the one pork tenderloin you had Frenched, so it would be enough, and you had a heavy soup with the light meat. So far I have no fault to find. But I cannot approve of pie after pork. Can you not have the canned cherries another way?"

Dolly scratched out the word "pie," and wrote in "pudding."

"That is all right. Now just one more to use up the scraps left from this."

"Cream of carrot soup

Veal chops, breaded; scalloped canned tomato; sweet potatoes

Chocolate custard

Coffee,"

wrote Dolly.

"Now that is what I call a good dinner," Mrs. Thorne said approvingly. "The left-over carrots you made up into soup. You had no pork to use up, so you got two veal chops, and those are fairly cheap. Having tomatoes was a master stroke, because they go so well with veal, and you will have enough of them over for a second dinner. I suppose the custard does not call for eggs?"

"No, it's a soft corn-starch pudding served in glasses. But, Mary, I did not intend to use up the tomatoes for a second dinner, but to have them for luncheon as Spanish toast."

"Oh, very well, that will do for once, especially as I hope you bought only a small can of them. By the way, speaking of luncheon, remember when you have cabbage for dinner, to keep out half after it is creamed, and the next day have it baked with layers of cheese; that is a delightful luncheon dish. You can use up boiled rice in the same way with white sauce and cheese, or you can merely mix your tomato and rice and bake that. Or, you could have rice croquettes and tomato sauce. But I am getting off the subject. Now try a July dinner, for a change."

"Oh, that's easy.

"Cream of celery soup

Lamb chops and peas; new potatoes in cream

Strawberry shortcake

Coffee."

"Where will you buy celery in July, my dear? That must come off your menu the very first thing. Remember you can have only seasonable things. And lamb chops are always expensive by the pound, and very small, with lots of bone and trimming, too, so they will not do; you must change them for a cheaper meat. As to strawberries – strawberries in July?"

"It's the very first of the month, Mary. They are still plenty and cheap."

"All right, then. But if the weather is warm I don't think Fred will care for a hot soup and hot coffee too. Why soup at all?"

"Just because. I can change that if you do not approve. How is this?

"Veal cutlet in strips; peas and new potatoes

Sliced tomatoes on lettuce

Strawberry shortcake

Coffee."

"That is perfect. But do not let yourself be eaten up with pride yet, for as you said, summer menus are easy to do. Try one in September."

"Boiled corned beef; potatoes; cabbage

Watercress salad

Chocolate corn-starch pudding

Coffee."

Dolly wrote down rapidly, and read aloud.

Her sister laughed again. "This time you have decidedly lost the game," she said. "I think you have everything wrong in that menu that you possibly could have. Remember the rule: you must eat whatever is in season. Now, why have in September the food you should reserve for winter, and why omit all the good fall vegetables and fruits? Try again. I blush for you, my dear."

Dolly muttered something about people who were too particular, but rewrote her menu docilely.

"Cream of corn soup

Lamb and tomatoes stewed; fried eggplant; sweet potatoes

Frozen peaches

Coffee."

"Perfectly delicious; I wish we could have that to-night. You see you really know how to use what you can have in market if only you think about it. Corn for soup, and tomatoes, eggplant and peaches all in one good dinner, and yet all cheap. Now, cover yourself with glory again in a menu for December. And this time use up some probable left-overs. Let me see. Suppose you had the lamb only the night before and there was a little left of that, and half the corn and sweet potatoes. Add what you need to those, since all of them come in December as well as earlier."

This took more time, but presently Dolly read:

"Lamb soufflé; sweet potato puff; corn fritters

Oranges

Coffee."

"That is a distinctly inferior menu," said Mary severely. "I see you are not ready for a prize yet, unless it's a booby prize. That soufflé of the lamb is quite right, but imagine what a light and trifling meal for a hungry man! Soufflé, – half fluff; corn fritters, and potato puff, – more fluffiness. What should have begun that dinner, Dolly, in December?"

"Oh, of course! A heavy bean soup; but I will add that."

"Before you do, let me finish my criticisms. Oranges are too light a dessert for a simple meal unless everything else is heavy. With the bean soup you will improve things, but it seems to me you should have either crackers and cheese with the fruit and coffee, or nuts and coffee instead of the oranges."

"Oh, well, I can easily rewrite the whole thing. How is this?

"Black bean soup

Lamb soufflé; fried sweet potatoes; succotash

Nuts and raisins

Coffee."

"Splendid! I could not do better myself. You put dried beans in with the corn, and sliced and fried the sweet potatoes. That is a very good dinner indeed. Now do two menus for January and use up left-overs again."

"Corned beef; cabbage; mashed potatoes

Canned string-bean salad

Mince pie and cheese

Coffee."

"Dolly, I do think you are crazy! Corned beef and cabbage and mince pie! Do you want your husband to expire in agonies that very same night? Never have mince pie with a heavy meat. I might almost say never have it at all, because it is so hearty it ought to be a meal all by itself. If you ever do have it, put it after the lightest things you can find, and have green salad or apple sauce, or something of the sort, to counteract it."

"Well, I'll cut the pie out. But what is the matter with corned beef and cabbage? I thought those went particularly well together."

"If you do not cook them in the same pot, but prepare the cabbage as I told you, in such a way that anybody can digest it, even a child or a confirmed dyspeptic, you can have it with any meat. But never cook anything with corned beef, except a slice of onion to season it. As for dessert, what will you have instead of mince pie?"

"Oh, canned blueberry tart; eggs and butter are dear in January. You see I do know something."

"Very good. Now make a second dinner and use the left-overs of this one."

"Split pea purée

Creamed corned beef, baked; string beans; mashed potato cakes

Steamed fig pudding

Coffee."

"That menu is really a success. You made the purée of the water the corned beef was boiled in, I see, and used up your half-can of string-beans for a vegetable; and of course the potato cakes were the mashed potatoes reheated. But why that particular pudding?"

"Fred ate up all the blueberry tart the night before; not a scrap of it was left, because it was so good," said Dolly demurely.

"Well, I don't blame him. Now I think you understand the game, and you can go on and practise it as you get time. Making out a whole set of menus for a year, four or five for each month, would be excellent practice for you, Dolly. But that is all for to-day."

"But, Mary, why do you skip all the breakfasts and luncheons? I am quite as capable of making glaring mistakes there as in dinners. If you don't tell me what to have, I shall certainly lunch on cold meat, and have two eggs apiece every morning in the week – also grapefruit!"

"What a frightful threat! Well, then, here are a few breakfasts, just to start you off comfortably:"

Spring

1. Poached eggs on toast; muffins; coffee.

2. Boiled rice and raisins, with cream; milk toast; coffee.

3. Codfish croquettes; pop-overs; coffee, toast, orange marmalade.

Summer

1. Cold oatmeal with berries; coffee and toast.

2. Scrambled eggs; corn bread; coffee.

3. Slices of fried eggplant; muffins; coffee.

Autumn

1. Sliced peaches; little pan fish; toast; coffee.

2. Fried tomatoes with cream sauce; rice muffins; coffee.

3. Parsley omelette; sally-lunn; coffee.

Winter

1. Cereal with chopped figs; creamed codfish; toast; coffee.

2. Bacon; fried apples; corn-meal puffs.

3. Creamed hard-boiled eggs on toast; coffee; fried hominy and syrup.

"Those are all practical and cheap, Dolly, I think, but you must modify them to suit your own needs, of course. If you find any of them expensive, substitute something else. You can have broiled dried beef in place of the bacon in one of the winter menus, for one thing, and in place of the eggs in any menu you can have some left-over you cannot use elsewhere. Now for the luncheons:"

Spring

1. Canned corn fritters; tea; jam tartlets.

2. Spinach on toast; tea; cheese crackers.

3. Codfish cutlets; tea; drop cakes.

Summer

1. Lettuce with mayonnaise; sandwiches; iced tea; berries.

2. Stuffed and baked eggplant; tea; lettuce and French dressing.

3. Baked tomatoes; iced coffee and fruit.

Autumn

1. Vegetable croquettes; cocoa; grapes.

2. Plain omelette; tea; stewed pears.

3. Baked sweet potatoes; tea; baked apples.

Winter

1. Cheese soufflé; tea; wafers.

2. Cup of soup; macaroni and tomatoes.

3. Potatoes filled with creamed fish; doughnuts.

"There! I think you might write those down and add to them as you like, too. I did not say which luncheons were made from left-overs and which were not, but some of them are, you can see for yourself. Of course you must never forget to use up what you have in the house rather than buy anything whatever for any meal. I think I have sufficiently impressed that on your mind, haven't I?"

"You have, indeed. Now let's stop playing this game for awhile and go and get luncheon; I am starved."

"Dear me, I should think you would be; it's lunch time now. I declare, Dolly, this game is as absorbing as bridge."

CHAPTER IX
Two Dinner Parties

Mr. Thorne proved as good as his word, for though he did not immediately follow up his warning that he would bring home unexpected company to dinner, he merely bided his time. One morning his wife said that, as she and Dolly would be out most of the day he need not expect a very good dinner that night, so that evening he gaily put in an appearance at six o'clock with two bachelor friends who had occasionally helped enliven the domestic circle on similar occasions.

Now, the dinner had been planned with an especial view to getting it on the table without a delay, as Mrs. Thorne could not be certain just what time she would be at home. The soup was ready to reheat. It was a plain purée, made with vegetables and water, flavored with a bone and plenty of seasoning, but there was not enough of it for five, unluckily. The meat was a Hamburg steak of moderate size, all ready to put in the dry frying-pan. For vegetables, a half-can of corn was already scalloped with crumbs, to be browned in the oven, and for potatoes a dishful of plain boiled ones was at hand, to be heated up in a white sauce. For dessert there was to be crackers, American cheese, and the usual black coffee, made in the coffee machine on the sideboard for convenience' sake.

When Dolly took in the situation and reviewed this menu, she shuddered. What a company dinner! Insufficient soup, scanty meat and corn, plain boiled potatoes, no salad and no dessert!

"Really, this time Dick has all but caught us," her sister whispered, as after receiving her guests with a cordial welcome she excused herself to put the dinner on. "Hurry, Dolly, and put more plates in the oven to heat, and get out the big platter and the vegetable dishes and put them in, too. Then lay two extra places and come out and help me.

"Now, here is the soup," she went on when her sister appeared. "There isn't half enough. You will have to get a can out of the emergency closet. Then the steak; isn't it fortunate that I had not put it over to cook? Now I can flatten it a little and make it larger, so it will cover more surface. I'll put vegetables all around it, and it will just fill that big platter and look exactly like a planked porter-house when I'm done with it. But the corn is hopeless; it is far too small an amount. Get some peas from the closet, Dolly, and drain and season them and make them hot. The potatoes won't do, either. Get some raw ones, and peel them and cut them in good-sized bits. And put on the kettle of fat to heat; I'll brown them in that."

After the meat was on the fire Mrs. Thorne made a salad by peeling and slicing in thick pieces three oranges she had bought for the next day's breakfast, because they happened to be cheap that day. She arranged these in the salad bowl and stirred up a French dressing to pour over them. She put the bowl on the sideboard and arranged the dessert by it, the crackers, a jar of fancy cheese from the closet in place of the American, and the coffee in the machine with small cups and saucers; she also set out the salad plates. She filled the tumblers, put on bread, and the bread and butter plates, with butter balls on them. Then she added a dish of spiced prunes to go with the meat course. As she was always certain that the dinner cloth was fresh and her fern dish filled and pretty, she had no changes to make in the table, and the two extra places had been laid by Dolly.

When she returned to the kitchen, the steak was ready to be turned and the potatoes prepared for the hot fat; it took only a moment to cook and drain them. The soup was put in the heated tureen, and with the hot soup plates carried into the dining-room. Then dinner was announced.

While the rest were seated at the table, Dolly served the soup from the sideboard. This plan was arranged beforehand. Whenever the question was discussed in the family which was the easiest and best plan of managing this first course without a maid, Mr. Thorne always held that the soup should be served at the table, and when they were alone this was done; but with guests there was always the possibility of an accident when men's unskilled hands passed filled soup plates from hand to hand. Sometimes in the past they had tried the plan of serving it before the guests came to the table, but too often the soup had been somewhat cooled, an unpardonable offence in the eyes of the hostess. Generally there was the same compromise as to-night, and with guests it was passed from the sideboard.

After this course the cold plates under the soup plates, which had been put on when the table was laid, were removed with those above. With a maid they would have been left on the table and merely exchanged for hot ones by her, but after many experiments this had been decided on as the only feasible plan, – to take away the two together and put a pile of hot ones before the carver and have them passed from hand to hand. It was not as elegant as the other way, but it did away with the waiting on the table during the course. So Dolly brought in the large platter of steak and set it down before the carver. The meat was brown on the outside and pink within. A strip of suet representing a bone ran down the middle, and another outlined the edge, making it look like a porter-house cut. All around it were alternating piles of browned potatoes and green peas, with sprigs of parsley here and there, so that it was appetizing to look at and delicious to eat. With this arrangement there were no vegetables to pass, and the bread and spiced prunes were passed around without trouble.

The next course was the salad. After taking off meat plates and platter, Dolly set the bowl before her sister and put on the table a plate of thin bread crisps, rolled up slices of bread and butter, browned quickly in the oven while the plates were warming for dinner. After this third course Dolly removed everything and crumbed the table. Then came the crackers, and the fancy cheese which had taken the place of the plain American variety intended for family consumption only; and with them the coffee machine was put on, with the cups, saucers, and spoons and a bowl of cut sugar, and the black, hot, fragrant coffee brought the dinner successfully to a close.

"I can never catch you," said Mr. Thorne mournfully, when the guests had finally departed with complimentary remarks to their hostess. "You always spoil my nice little practical dinner-jokes by your confounded preparedness! And now I suppose I've got to pay the forfeit."

"What forfeit?" asked Dolly.

"Why, we have an arrangement that Dick can bring any friends home to dinner at any time, the number not to exceed two at once," explained her sister. "Then if there is dinner enough, and if it really is good enough for the occasion, he has to pay me for my extra trouble. Of course, if I ever fail, I'll have to pay up in my turn, but so far he has been caught every time. Dolly and I will consider, Dick, what the forfeit shall be. Matinee tickets, I rather think, this time."

"Well, I'll get them cheerfully, for that was really a good dinner, and the kind a man likes, which is another matter."

The next day Mrs. Thorne replaced the soup, cheese, and peas she had taken out of her emergency closet. She had also to buy extra meat for dinner as there was none left over for a second day's meal, but as the dinner had been a cheap one for five, she did not grudge the small amount expended. "But now we must economize in earnest this week," she said as she added up her accounts, "because next week I want to have a real little dinner-party. I must have several, in fact, to return the hospitality shown you, my dear. Luckily it is spring, now; remember that it is always cheaper to entertain in spring than at any other time in the year."

"It's a lot cheaper not to entertain at all," Dolly grumbled rebelliously. "Don't let's have any dinner-parties – they're such a bother!"

"On the contrary, they are no bother at all, but lots of fun when you have them as I do, simply and inexpensively. And you really must do some entertaining in your turn if you do not want to drop out of everything when you are married, and that would be a most foolish thing to do."

"Who waits on the table?" demanded Dolly.

"Oh, that's the trouble with the dinner-party, is it? Well, I hasten to relieve your mind – you don't! When I give a company dinner I have in a young girl whom I have trained. She does all the waiting, and stays and washes the dishes, and I pay her seventy-five cents for the evening. Sometimes, when I have a little luncheon I do my own waiting, and of course in a surprise-party dinner I have to also, but not when I give a regular invitation dinner. I wait till I have money enough in hand for the waitress as well as the food and flowers and all, and then I go ahead."

A few days later the party was arranged for. A young couple and their unmarried brother were asked, making a group of six to sit about the round table. This was the menu Mrs. Thorne wrote out:

Cream of beet soup

Radishes, almonds, olives

Forequarter of lamb, stuffed; mint jelly; new potatoes; peas

Lettuce and cheese balls; wafers

Vanilla ice-cream and sherried cherries; small cakes

Coffee

"Doesn't that sound good?" she asked, surveying the paper with her head on one side.

"Now to make as many things as possible to-day, so we won't get too tired to-morrow. First, we will salt the almonds."

"Do let me do those all alone! I saw somebody do it once, and I know exactly how. You just take off the skins and fry them in olive oil."

"My dear, I hate to seem unappreciative or hurt your little feelings, but the fact is, that is a most abominable way to do them, though it's common enough. It makes them greasy and streaky, partly brown and partly white. This is the really-truly way to make them: first you put them in boiling water till the skins loosen, and then drop them in cold water; slip off the skins, and dry them and mix them with the half beaten white of an egg – that is, about half the whole white; then you sprinkle them with salt and put them on a tin in the oven and occasionally stir them. They will turn a lovely creamy brown and will be crisp and evenly colored, and you can keep those you do not use at one dinner and heat them up to freshen them when you need them, for a second dinner, just as you do crackers. We will do them that way to-day. Then besides that we will get the dining-room in order, polish the silver and glass, fill the salts, and look over the china and table linen, so that to-morrow there will not be much to do."

The next morning the marketing was done early, so that the things would come home in good season. At the grocery they bought the beets, – one bunch of old ones, not the young ones just in market; a can of small American peas; a head of lettuce; a square cream cheese and a round one half its size in order to have enough; a little American cheese; two lemons, and a pint of cream.

At the butcher's they ordered lamb. "Not what you call 'spring lamb,'" she explained, "but exactly what you have been selling all winter; that is still nice, and plenty young enough. Now cut off the neck and the trimmings, and take out the shoulder-blade and make a pocket for the stuffing to go in comfortably, and send me a bunch of mint with it all." While she waited for her change she told Dolly about this purchase. "Forequarter of lamb is really the cheapest roast there is. Sometimes even when we are all by ourselves I buy it and make ever so many meals of it. I get a big piece, as much as eight or nine pounds, because that is the cheapest way, and the butcher keeps it for me and lets me have it as I want it. The roast makes at least two dinners, and there is a lot left over still for croquettes and soufflés and such things. Then there are four chops for one or even two dinners more for two people – "

"'With a good filling soup to take off the edge of the appetite first,' otherwise the four chops would make only one dinner," interrupted Dolly, quoting freely.

"Exactly. And besides, there are the trimmings and odds and ends for meat pies and stews, so you see how far it goes."

"Really, I should think you and Dick would fairly bleat!"

"Well, perhaps we might if we deliberately sat down to lamb night after night, but we don't do anything half so foolish. We have things between, veal and beef and pork, and as the lamb is practically in cold storage at the butcher's, it can wait indefinitely, and when we do have it we live on what I used to think the old Jews wanted to live on in Canaan, – 'the fat of the lamb!' But now's let's hurry home, for there's lots to do yet."

As soon as their things were taken off and kitchen dresses put on, the plain vanilla ice-cream was frozen and packed away to ripen. For the sauce which was to be put on each glass which it was served, a small can of preserved cherries was opened and drained; the juice was boiled down to a thick syrup with a small cup of sugar, and the cherries put back in it to cool, with a flavoring of sherry.