“If the dough is soft won’t it stick to our fingers?” said Marjorie, with a dainty little shiver.

“Powder your hands very lightly with flour.  That will keep the dough from sticking,” said Miss Muffet, “and you will gain a knack after a while.

“5.  The oven must be steadily hot, but not too quick, for bread.  Hold your hand in it while you count thirty, and it will be right for putting in your bread.

“6.  Grease your pans.

“7.  When taking bread from the oven loosen the loaves from the pans, stand them upright, and let them lean against something to keep them in that position.  Cover them lightly with a cloth.

“8.  Do not put them away until they are cold.”

We all gathered about the table, but were disappointed that there was nothing for us to do except look on.

She took two quarts of flour and sifted it thoroughly into a large wooden bowl.  In one pint of tepid water she dissolved a half-tablespoonful of salt and half a yeast cake.  Pouring this into a hollow in the middle of the flour she gradually drew the flour into it from all sides, working it with swift, light touches until it was a compact mass.  She pounced and pulled and beat this till it was as smooth and round as a ball, dusted a little flour over it, covered it with a thick cloth and set it aside.

“That is all that can be done to-night, girls,” she said.  “Be here every one of you at six in the morning, if Milly can be up so early.  The bread will be ready then for another kneading.  You must not overlook the fact, girls, that bread is not accommodating.  It has to be attended to when the proper time comes, whether it is convenient for the maker or not.  If neglected, it will be too light, or else heavy.  Bread which is too light has a sour taste, and is just as unpalatable as that which is heavy, i.e., not raised enough, I mean.”

In the morning our bread had risen to the top of the bowl, and had cracks running in a criss-cross manner over its surface.  Miss Muffet was the first one to appear on the scene.  She gave us a lesson in kneading.  Such patting and pounding, throwing over, tossing back and forth, as she gave that poor dough.  But the dough must have enjoyed it, for it seemed to grow lighter every minute.

After a full twenty minutes of this process the bread was set near the fire for a second rising.  A half-hour passed.  Miss Muffet took it in hand again, and again she pounced and patted, beat and pounded the helpless mass, this time dividing it into three small loaves, which she set near the fire for the final rising.

“Bread is nicer made in little loaves,” she told us.  “More convenient for use on the table, easier to bake, and less likely to become dry.”

And now let me give you a receipt for Ingleside waffles.  Mother considers these very good, and so do we girls who have tried them.