Part 57 (2/2)
”What are you going to do with that dough, Cinthie?” she asked.
”Make pudding.”
”Who for?”
”For my chil'ren.” She dipped her fingers into a doll's tea-cup full of water, which stood at the elbow of the banshee, and continued to knead; the dough now clung to her fingers in long, elastic threads, and her face showed a deep and vivid interest in her occupation.
”Are these all the children you've got?”
”No; _Minnie-Haha_ and _Danny Deever's_ inside. They been naughty.
They's in bed.”
”What on earth did they do?”
”Wouldn't say they prairses last night.”
”Oh, how naughty!”
”Yes; I don't love them when they don't say prairses for their daddy.”
”Their daddy?”
”Yes; he lives in England. He has been living in England for twenty years. They have never seen him.”
”Goodness!”
”Yes; it's very sad.” She wagged her head dolefully.
Presently she unplucked the dough from her fingers and began to spread it out on the large, flat stone, patting it smooth with the palm of her hand. Thereafter, she made a pattern round its edges with a doll's fork, as she had seen cook do.
”I wish I could make puddings like you,” said Poppy, lying on her elbow and eating her orange.
”I can make nicer ones'n this,” said Cinthie boastfully. ”I can make Best-pudding-of-all.”
”Oh, do tell me, Cinthie, so when I have nine children I can make it for them too.”
Cinthie looked at her dreamfully.
”Perhaps you won't have any children,” she said. ”Perhaps you'll be a widow.”
”Oh, Cinthie, don't be unkind--of course, I shall have some! Go on now, tell me about the pudding.”
Cinthie rubbed her nose and reflected for a long time. At last, solemnly, with a long think between each sentence, she delivered the recipe.
”Get some dough ... dip it in water for a minute or two ... get some pastry ... dip it into water twice ... roll it hard ... put it into the dish on top of everything--” Long pause.
”Yes?”
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