Part 18 (1/2)

”Yes, sir. And dinner, sir?”

”Here is the _menu_.” He handed her a paper. ”I will give you out what is necessary.”

He led the way down a stone pa.s.sage to the store-room door, which he unlocked.

”I am out of sifted sugar, sir,” the cook said nervously.

”What, again?” Uncle James sternly demanded. ”This is only Thursday, and I gave you some out on Sat.u.r.day.”

”Yes, sir, but only a quarter of a pound, sir, and I had to use it for the top of the rice-pudding, and the pancakes, and the Charlotte Russe, and the plum-pudding----”

”How?” said Uncle James--”the plum-pudding, which is not yet fried?”

”Beg pardon, sir. I'm all confused. But, however,” she added desperately, ”the sugar is done.”

”Well, I suppose I must give you some more this time. But do not let it occur again. You may weigh out a quarter of a pound.”

When that was done, Uncle James consulted a huge cookery-book which lay on a shelf in the window. ”We shall require another cake for tea,”

he said, and then proceeded to read the recipe aloud, keeping an observant eye upon the cook as she weighed out the various ingredients.

”And the kitchen meals, sir?” she asked, as he locked up the store-room.

”Make what you have do,” he said, ”make what you have do.”

”But there is hardly meat enough to go round once, sir.”

”You must make it do. People are much healthier and happier when they do not eat too much.”

This ceremony over, he went to the poultry-yard, followed by Beth (who carefully kept in the background), the yard-boy, and the poultry-maid who carried some corn in a sieve, which she handed to her master when he stopped. Uncle James scattered a little corn on the ground, calling ”chuck! chuck! chuck!” at the same time, in a dignified manner.

Chickens, ducks, turkeys and guinea-fowl collected about him, and he stood gazing at them with large light prominent eyes, blandly, as if he loved them--as indeed he did when they appeared like ladies at table, dressed to perfection.

”That guinea-fowl!” he decided, after due consideration.

The yard-boy caught it and gave it to the poultry-maid, who held it while Uncle James carefully felt its breast.

”That will do,” he said. ”Quite a beauty.”

The yard-boy took it from the poultry-maid, tied its legs together, cut its throat, and hung it on a nail.

”That drake!” Uncle James proceeded. The same ceremony followed, Uncle James bearing his part in it without any relaxation of his grand manner.

When a turkey-poult had also been executed, he requested the yard-boy to fetch him his gun from the harness-room.

”We must have a pigeon-pie,” he observed as he took it.

Beth, in great excitement, stalked him to the orchard, where there was a big pigeon-house covered with ivy. In front of it the pigeons had a good run, enclosed with wire netting when they were shut in; but they were often let out to feed in the fields. The yard-boy now reached up and opened a little door in the side of the house. As he did so he glanced at Uncle James somewhat apprehensively. Uncle James, with a benign countenance, suddenly lifted his gun and fired. The yard-boy dropped.

”What is the matter?” said Uncle James.

The yard-boy gathered himself up with a very red face. ”I thought you meant to shoot me, sir.”