THE
MARY FRANCES
COOK BOOK

OR
ADVENTURES AMONG THE
KITCHEN PEOPLE
By
JANE EAYRE FRYER
Full page illustrations by
MARGARET G. HAYS
Other illustrations by
JANE ALLEN BOYER

Copyright, 1912, by
Jane Eayre Fryer

This book tells the story of Mary Frances, a little girl whose great ambition was to help her mother. So anxious was she to do this that even the humble Kitchen People became her teachers and instructors. They talked to her, a thing never heard of before; helped her over the hard places, and explained mysterious secrets she could never otherwise have understood. They wove around a simple little book of recipes her mother had made for her the spell of Fairyland; they led her through a series of delightful adventures such as never happened to any girl before, in which she lived for three whole happy weeks, and out of which she emerged no longer a little girl, but a real little woman.

Some very wise people would call this a story book, some a manual training book, and others a cookery book, but Mary Frances knows better; she knows that it is a Book within a Book that introduced her to Aunty Rolling Pin and a lot of other dear, dear friends, such as no little girl ever had before, and whom she now wishes to introduce for the first time to all other little girls. (I know that she gained their consent to do this because she told me so.)

In the hope that Mary Frances' wish may be realized, this record of her adventures is sent out to the girls of America with the best wishes of

The Author.

LIST OF RECIPES

PAGE 1. Plain Toast [15] 2. Buttered Toast [19] 3. Milk Toast [20] 4. Jacket-boiled Potatoes [35] 5. Baked Potatoes [46] 6. Boiled Potatoes [47] 7. Mashed Potatoes [47] 8. Potato Soup [49] 9. Boiled Eggs [60] 10. Hard-boiled Eggs [61] 11. Coffee [63] 12. Tea [76] 13. Omelet [77] 14. White Sauce [84] 15. Baked Apples [86] 16. Thimble Biscuits [97] 17. Baking Powder Biscuits [98] 18. Cocoa [102] 19. Gingerbread Cookies [108] 20. Soft Custard [111]
PAGE 21. Steamed Rice [111] 22. Boiled Rice [112] 23. Poached Eggs [114] 24. Rice Pudding [117] 25. Boiled Mutton [118] 26. Sauce for Boiled Mutton [119] 27. Apple Snow [127] 28. Stuffed Eggs [136] 29. Pickaninny Fudge [141] 30. Walnut Kisses [142] 31. Sponge Cake [145] 32. Dream Cake [150] 33. Queen of Hearts Tarts [160] 34. Pastry [160] 35. Salad Dressing [166] 36. Creamed New Cabbage [167] 37. Bread Pudding [167] 38. Banana Bread Pudding [168] 39. Hard Sauce [168] 40. Pan-broiled Beefsteak [169]

CHAPTER I

THE KITCHEN PEOPLE

ALL the Kitchen People were terribly excited.

"I see my finish!" puffed Tea Kettle from his perch on the stove.

"That's slang!" snapped Sauce Pan, who sat near by.

"Slang or no slang," said Tea Kettle, "I'll melt if somebody doesn't come fill me soon."

"Where's the cook? Where's the mistress?" asked Boiler Pan.

"Why, the cook's left—left this morning and the mistress's sick. What's that I smell burning?"

"That's the potatoes in the oven," said Toaster.

"Oh, my lid!" cried Tea Kettle holding his nose. "Pour on water! Quick!"

"Whew!" exclaimed Coffee Pot.

"Whew!" cried Pie Plate.

"Whew!" clanged Big Iron Pot.

"Whew!" mimicked Sauce Pan. "Whew!—That won't help! If you say Whew! to an oven door, will it open?—Somebody open the door!"

"Good idea, Saucy!" exclaimed Tea Kettle. "You might try it yourself!"

"Owoooh! O-w-o-o-o-h!" strained little Sauce Pan at the heavy door. "O-w-o-o-o-h! I can't-t budge it! Cauch! Cawc! Ochee!" he coughed. "What smoke! Somebody else come try!"

"Get out of the way, then," said Big Iron Pot, making heavily toward the stove.

"Knew your arms were too short," laughed Tea Kettle, seeing Iron Pot couldn't reach the knob.

"Well, they're as long as yours," said Iron Pot angrily.

"Kick it open!" sug-gest-ed Sauce Pan. "Everybody allowed one kick!"

"First go!" exclaimed Iron Pot.

Whack! came a muffled sound. Then, "Oh, my poor feet! Oh! Oh!"

"What's the matter?" asked Sauce Pan.

"Nothing," said Big Iron Pot, hopping around on one little leg, and holding the other with his hands. "Only I wish you'd had 'First go!'"

"Well," declared Tea Kettle, "unless help comes soon, we may as well give up all hope of rescue. This is dreadful!"

"Listen, then," ticked Mantel Clock, who didn't mind the smoke. "I know a secret: the dear little girl——"

"Oh, yes, we know!" cried the Kitchen People.

"Well!" asked Mantel Clock, "what do you know?"

"The little girl—that there is a little girl——"

"Is that all you know?" demanded Mantel Clock. "Now, when people interrupt——"

"Just dying to tell," said Sauce Pan in a loud whisper.

"Please, please, tell us the secret," begged the Kitchen People.

"Well," Mantel Clock ran on, "the dear little girl that lives in our house is going to learn to cook. What d'you say if we all turn in and help her?"

"Goody-goody!" Aunty Rolling Pin laughed so she nearly rolled off the table.

Just then the kitchen door-knob turned, and every one of the Kitchen People was as quiet as a

CHAPTER II

TOASTER MAN

IN ran the dearest, sweetest little girl.

"Oh, you poor Tea Kettle!" she cried. "You'll boil to death!" and she pulled it over to the cooler part of the stove.

Tea Kettle simmered his thanks.

"What can be burning?" she asked. "What can it be?" and she looked all over the stove.

"I do believe it's something in the oven!"

As she pulled open the oven door, out rolled the burnt potatoes.

"Now," she said, "now, for the toast," and she caught up her mother's apron from a hook, and tied it just under her arms, crossing the strings in front.

The Kitchen People held their breath to see what would happen next.

Suddenly she clapped her hands.

"The very thing!" she cried, and ran out of the room. In a minute she was back, with a little book in her hands.

"Mother was asleep," she whispered as though her mother was still in danger of being wakened by any sound—"but I just tip-toed up to the table, and got the book she's been making for my cooking lessons. This must be it—it's Mother's writing:

'The Mary Frances' First Cook Book.'

I believe—I just believe it tells about toast. Yes, here it is, right on the first page:

No. 1.—Plain Toast.

1. Cut stale bread into slices, about ½ inch thick.

2. Remove crusts.

3. Put into wire toaster.

4. Hold over a fire, moving to and fro until a golden brown color.

5. Turn, and brown the other side.

"Let's see if there is any stale bread. I should think so! a whole loaf! Now, I'll cut two slices, and since I want it to be very nice, I'll cut off the crusts. I guess that will be enough; oh, how I wish somebody was here to help me."

"There is somebody—I'll help!"

Mary Frances looked round in amazement. Seeing no one, "Why,—where? Why,—who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Tea Kettle, Miss," said Tea Kettle, lifting his lid very politely. "I'm gladly at your service, if you please."

"And I!" It was Sauce Pan.

"And I!" cried Boiler Pan.

Mary Frances could scarcely believe her ears.

"My," she said, "can you all talk? and will you help me? Isn't that grand!—But how you did s'prise me! Won't we have a lovely time!"

"Look at the fire! Look at the fire!"

"What a tiny voice!" thought the little girl,—but she quickly took the lids off the stove. Some very bright coals stared up at her.

"The fire is fine," she said aloud, and she looked all about to find where the voice came from, but she saw no one.

"Look down, please!" said the same tiny voice, this time very distinctly.

There stood the funniest little wire man, no higher than the little girl's elbow.

"You didn't see me," laughed the little man, "but I know how to make toast."

"Of course!" said the little girl, "you're—why, you're the Toaster!"

"Yes, ma'am," said the little man, with a bow, "at your service, Miss Mary Frances."

"Try me, and see what I can do," went on Toaster Man. "Just put a slice of that bread into my head, and hold me over the fire."

Mary Frances leaned over and gravely put a slice of bread in Toaster. He looked so funny standing there that she wanted to smile, but thought it wouldn't be exactly polite to so helpful a friend. But when he said, "Slide up my collar," in a thick, smothery sort of voice, she laughed aloud before she could stop, but turned the sound into a cough so quickly that Toaster Man looked up at her queerly only a moment; and she pulled the ring up until it held the bread tightly in place.

"Now, lift me up over the fire!" he demanded.

Mary Frances hesitated—she couldn't tell where to take hold of him.

"Never mind my legs," he said, as though he read her thoughts, "I'll see to them," and he folded them up so close that when Mary Frances lifted him up, she could find no sign of them.

"Oh, you'll be burnt!" she cried, as she held what Toaster Man had called his head over the bright fire.

"Not I," he laughed, "not I. I like it. It's the toast that'll be burnt, if I'm not turned over soon."

Mary Frances took the hint, and turned Toaster carefully over.

"Not too close to the coals at first, Little Miss," said the little fellow. "Now,—closer! That's it!"

"How is it?" he asked, as Mary Frances took him from the fire.

"What a beautiful piece of toast!" she cried.

"Grand-if-i-cent!" exclaimed Toaster. "Now, you do the next piece without my saying a word—but first spread that with butter, and put it in the oven. Now, you read in your book, and see if that's not the way to make Buttered Toast."

Mary Frances opened her book.

"Read it out!" said the little man.

"When I speak that way, Mother tells me to say 'Please,'" said she.

"Beg pardon," said the little man, "Please."

So Mary Frances read:

No. 2.—Buttered Toast.

1. Spread toasted bread evenly with butter.

2. Pile one slice on top of the other, and cover with a bowl.

3. Place in oven.

"That's it! that's what I told you," cried the little fellow. "I'm always right about toast. Can you make the next slice without a word more?"

"I think so," said Mary Frances; and she didn't utter a sound until she had taken the second piece out of Toaster.

"What a beautiful piece of toast!" exclaimed Toaster. "It's better than the first."

"Oh, I don't think——" Mary Frances started.

"I know!" snapped the little man. "Don't contradict me about toast! By the way," he asked, "why don't you make it into Milk Toast for your mother? it would be softer, and more palat—palat—"

"Pal-a-table," said Mary Frances.

"Yes," said he, "you know a good deal for a little girl,"—and he began to choke. Mary Frances patted him hard.

"A piece of toast?" she asked.

"No," he exclaimed in-dig-nant-ly, "a long word always makes me choke. That's why I seldom use them. Now, please read about Milk Toast."

"If you know——" sug-gest-ed Mary Frances.

"Well, it's more like real grown-up people to have it out of a book," said the little man. "Go on!"

And Mary Frances read from her little Cook Book.

No. 3.—Milk Toast.

1. Make ready the toast.

2. Heat the milk until smoking hot.

3. Melt the butter in a small saucepan.

4. Throw the flour into the butter. Cook until it bubbles a little, stirring all the time. Take from the fire.

5. Pour 1/3 the milk upon the butter and flour, a little at a time, stirring with the back of a spoon to press out the lumps.

6. Place over fire, and gradually stir in the remaining milk.

7. Add the salt. Let boil a minute.

8. Put slices of toast in a heated dish; pour the sauce over and serve hot.

All measures are made level with the top of cup or spoon. To measure level spoonful:

Fill spoon heaping full, and level it off with the back of a knife.

For half spoonful, cut through lengthwise.

For quarter spoonful, divide a half spoonful across.

A saltspoon is 1/8 teaspoon.

"That's right!" said Toaster Man. "That's the way my grandmother made it. If I were you, I'd make only half of that sauce for only two slices of toast. You did so well with the Plain Toast; you go right ahead with the Milk Toast, and see if you can make it all yourself, and if you need any help, I'll be on the spot in a twinkle. Follow carefully what your little Cook Book says. You know you must measure everything even with the top of the spoon, or cup."

So Mary Frances did exactly what the recipe told her.

As she poured the last of the sauce over the toast, which she had put in a pretty dish, the little man, who had been running here and there, watching everything she did, shouted, "Hurrah!" At least, he tried to shout, but his voice would scarcely reach to a grown-up person's ear. "You are the best pupil I ever had!"

"Have you had many?" asked Mary Frances.

"You are the only one," said Toaster. "Why?"

"Nothing," said Mary Frances.

"I should think," said the little man, standing on his toes, to look over the edge of the dish, "that that Milk Toast would taste awful good!"

"Won't you try it?" asked Mary Frances. She was very much afraid he would, but she wanted to show her gratitude for his kindness.

"Oh, no," sighed the little man, "I never eat."

"You never eat!" exclaimed Mary Frances.

"It may seem strange to you," said the little man, "but everything that is put into my head falls out backwards, and I simply can't eat."

"It must be dreadful!" said Mary Frances.

"It keeps me very thin," complained Toaster, "but if I'm not mistaken, your mother will eat all that toast,—if she gets it while it's hot."

"Oh, I hope so," said Mary Frances; "and I thank you so very very much."

"Good-bye!" added the little girl, as she went out of the kitchen, followed by the admiring gaze of all the Kitchen People.

CHAPTER III

MARY FRANCES' MOTHER

MARY FRANCES pushed open the door of her mother's room very softly.

"What has my little girl there?" asked her mother.

"Oh, are you awake, Mother? It's a s'prise for you," and she carried the tray over to the bed.

Her mother carefully lifted the lid of the dish.

"Milk Toast! the only thing I could eat! why—who made it?"

"If it hadn't been for Toaster, it couldn't have been made," said Mary Frances.

Her mother looked at the little girl in surprise.

"I mean," she added, "that Toaster really did it—he showed me how——"

"Oh!" laughed her mother, as she lifted a slice of toast out on a saucer. "Well, dear, anyway I want you to have some toast with Mother"—and she handed the saucer to Mary Frances, who said she would much rather watch her mother eat it than to have some herself; but, after her first taste, she found how hungry she was.

"It's the best toast I ever ate," said her mother, "and Mary Frances, dear, I feel much better already."

She would have said more had not Mary Frances' brother bounded up the stairs two steps at a time with,——

"What do you think! I met Father downtown, and he says Aunt Maria's coming over to keep house for us. In the daytime, she must be at home; but she'll come over to get breakfast for us, and we'll go there for our dinners—and Father says Mother is going to the seashore to have a 'perfect rest' until she's well. Anyhow, I'm glad we won't starve. I wish Sis knew how to cook!" and he teasingly pulled one of Mary Frances' curls.

"Hush, Brother!" said the mother, "you should have been here to see the lovely Milk Toast Sister just brought me. It was the best I ever ate—and she made it all herself."

"Almost!" said Mary Frances.

"Oh, yes," said her mother, "the dear little girlie wants Toaster to get part of the praise."

"Ha, ha!" laughed Brother, and Mary Frances, somehow, couldn't explain about the Kitchen Folks.

Instead, "When does Aunt Maria come?" she asked. "Does she come to-night?"

"She's coming right over," answered her brother.

"Oh, oh!" thought Mary Frances, "I must warn the Kitchen People."

"Brother," she began, nervously, "you stay with Mother—I want to take these things down."

But Brother was already sitting quietly near Mother, and Mary Frances hurried softly downstairs.

"The poor dears! The poor dears!" she kept whispering all the way down.

CHAPTER IV

MARY FRANCES WARNS THE KITCHEN FOLKS

TO the kitchen door she ran, and was about to rush out, when she thought she heard voices—thin, little voices they were—so she peeped out, for the door was ajar,—and this is what she saw:

Toaster Man, all tired out, was leaning back in a chair, snoring softly; but all the other Kitchen People were wide awake. It was Tea Kettle that was speaking:

"So, he put the eight feathers in a pan, and cooked them——"

"Who did?" asked Sauce Pan.

"The Jack Rabbit—and then he ate their fringe all off, and gave the bones to the cat. Then he bragged—he bragged that he'd eaten eight whole chickens at once."

"Is that all?" asked Sauce Pan.

"Yes," said Tea Kettle.

"Humph!" said Sauce Pan. "Was that his recipe for Fried Chicken?"

"My, I'd love to hear more about the Jack Rabbit," thought Mary Frances, "but I must warn them about Aunt Maria"; and she hurried out into the kitchen.

"Listen!" she whispered, with upraised finger. "Listen!—Mother is going away, and Aunt Maria's coming over to keep house. Don't ever say a word—she'll never understand you, and she'll scrub and scour you till you ache, poor things!—she'll do that anyway, but don't talk before her. I hurried down to warn you—I was so afraid you might."

"Never fear," spoke up Tea Kettle; "we never, never talk before 'grown-ups'—we can't help them. I forgot to tell you—if you speak about us to anyone, we can never, never speak again."

"Oh," said Mary Frances, "it's a secret! I'm so glad you told me—I came so near telling Mother about Toaster Man—I might have, only——"

Then the door-bell rang.

CHAPTER V

AUNT MARIA

"FOR the land's sakes!" cried Aunt Maria. "For the land's sakes! Where in the world has that child been? Look at those hands! Have you been playing in the coal?"

"I put coal on the fire," said Mary Frances.

"I guess I'll take a look at that fire, myself," Aunt Maria continued, as she started toward the kitchen.

Just then, she caught sight of the tray which Mary Frances had brought downstairs.

"Milk Toast," she sniffed. "Who sent that in?"

"I—I made it," Mary Frances began.

There was one tiny piece left. Aunt Maria looked at it hard.

"It's wonderful," she said, "wonderful; who showed you how?"

"Who showed you how?" she demanded, as Mary Frances stood silent.

"N-no-body,—at least, no real person. I read about how to make it in my cook book."

"Your cook book—you mean your mother's cook book."

"No," said Mary Frances, "I mean my cook book Mother's been making for me. I'll show it to you," and she ran to get it. "See!—in Mother's writing—'Mary Frances' First Cook Book!'"

"Well," said Aunt Maria, "you may turn out of some account, after all. It's about time to call for a ref-or-ma-tion."

"Yes, ma'am," said Mary Frances, not un-der-stand-ing the big word—"do you want me to call for it now?"

"Don't be saucy!" snapped the old lady.

Then she set about washing the little girl's hands and face, rubbing so hard that it made the tears come, finishing off with the towel until Mary Frances felt her face shine.

"Wonder if she thinks I'm a stove," she thought. "Maybe she'll black me some day by mistake! I don't believe she knows how old I am—she treats me like a baby, for all the world sometimes, yet she thinks I ought to know more. Queer!"

While Aunt Maria was busy getting dinner, she ran up to her mother's room.

"Mother," she asked, "Aunt Maria will be gone home most of the day time, while you're away, won't she?"

"Yes, dear," said Mother; "you and Brother are to go to her house to lunch."

"Mother, dear," begged Mary Frances, "can't I get lunch for Brother and me? I was going to tell you I read—I found the recipe for the Milk Toast in my little cook book you've been making for me. I came up and found it while you were asleep—I just know I can get our lunches. Please, Mother, can't I try?"

"Well, dear," said Mother, smiling, "I really believe you may. I've just been thinking about the toast, and what a woman my dear little girl is."

Just then Aunt Maria called: