The Story of a Summer | Page 7

recently
escaped, and had entered several houses in Chappaqua--to say nothing
of Mr. O'Dwyer's report that that dreadful Captain Jack has escaped,
and is known to be lurking in the neighborhood of our peaceful little
village."
"Pray let us change the subject," I entreated, "or between convicts and
Modocs I shall have the nightmare for a month."
June 9.
We have just said good-by to Señor Delmonte, of Hayti, who has gone
down on the 4.45 train, after passing, I hope, a pleasant day with us.
[Illustration: The Train Station.]
We have led such a quiet life since last fall, that a visit from a friend is
a very pleasant excitement, and with the assistance of our invaluable
Minna and Lina, there is nothing to be dreaded in the preparations.
Then, too, it is so pleasant to unpack the superb linen that Aunt Mary
bought abroad--the heavy damask table-cloths with their beautiful
designs, and the immense dinner napkins, protecting one's dress so
admirably against possible accident--and to take out the exquisite silver
and Sèvres; everything is perfection, even to the little gold, lily-shaped
hand-bell. Afterwards we go to gather flowers in all their morning
freshness, and if it is ten o'clock, we walk down to the station to meet
the New York train.
Señor Delmonte is a very agreeable gentleman, and quite a favorite in
New York circles. In figure he rises far above ordinary humanity, six
feet two inches being, I believe, his exact height--and his very dark
complexion and stately gravity render him quite conspicuous in a
drawing-room. He is reported extremely wealthy.
Upon returning from a drive on the Pleasantville road with Señor
Delmonte, Ida ran down to the kitchen for a moment, to see if harmony
reigned there (for Lina and Minna are not, I regret to say, becoming

warm friends; but more of that to-morrow). Ida rarely troubles the cook
with her presence, for Lina, like all cordons bleus, is a great despot, and
impatient of surveillance; but as she can be trusted to arrange an entire
menu without any hints from Ida, la Dame Châtelaine gladly leaves the
responsibility to her. What therefore was my surprise to see Ida return
from her visit downstairs with an unmistakable look of anxiety upon
her pretty face, and beckon me out of the music room where we were
sitting.
"What do you think, Cecilia?" she announced, in despairing accents.
"Lina has made a soup of sour cream, which is now reposing in the
ice-box!"
"Of what?" I said, scarcely crediting her words, and running down to
the kitchen.
Lina's feelings were considerably ruffled that her young mistress did
not appreciate the soup, which she considered a triumph of art, and
which consisted of sour cream, spices, and a little sugar--to be eaten, of
course, cold.
"Nice soup," she said, in the most injured tones; "King of Sweden think
excellent, but Miss no like it."
It was, however, too late to make another soup, so we consoled
ourselves with the thought that a king approved of it, and we would
show a plebeian taste if we did not also appreciate it. However, some
wry faces were made over the unlucky soup at the table, and the King
of Sweden's taste was the subject of much merriment.
I was somewhat sceptical at first that Lina had ever been in the royal
household at Stockholm, notwithstanding that she did cook so
admirably; but she managed yesterday evening to tell me, in her broken
English, about her residence in the palace.
It seems that inexperienced cooks can, by paying a certain sum, be
admitted into the royal kitchen to learn from the chief cook. After they
have perfected themselves in their profession, they receive wages, and

upon leaving, are presented with a diploma. Why could not a somewhat
similar institution--omitting the sovereign--become practicable in our
own country? Both housekeepers and newspapers groan over the
frightful cooking of our Bridgets; Professor Blot lectures upon the
kitchen scientifically and artistically considered, and our fashionable
ladies go to his classes to play at cooking; but the novelty soon wears
off, and home matters continue as badly as ever.
I do not know if the President would consent to imitate the Swedish
sovereign, by throwing open the kitchen of the White House in the
same liberal fashion, but surely he ought to be willing to make some
sacrifices for the common good--perhaps even to submit occasionally
to a dinner spoilt by the experiments of young apprentices to the
culinary art. Three months' training ought to suffice to make a very
good cook, and with a diploma from the White House, situations would
be plentiful, wages higher than ever, and employers would have the
satisfaction of knowing that their money was not thrown away.
June 11.
We may