Grace Hill - The Corner House Girls on a Houseboat

Delicious and appetizing odors filled the kitchen of the old Corner House. They were wafted even to the attic, were those whiffs and fragrant zephyrs. Some of them even escaped through the open windows, causing Uncle Rufus to cease his slow and laborious task of picking up some papers from the newly cut lawn.

“Dat suah smells mighty good – mighty good!” murmured the old darkey to himself, as he straightened up by the process of putting one hand to the small of his back and pressing there, as though a spring needed adjusting. “Dat suah smells mighty good! Mrs. Mac mus’ suah be out-doin’ of herse’f dish yeah mawnin’!”

He turned his wrinkled face toward the Corner House, again sniffing deeply.

A pleased and satisfied look came over his countenance as the cooking odors emanating from the kitchen became more pronounced.

“Dey’s suah to be some left – dey suah is, ’cause hit’s Miss Ruth’s party, an’ she’s always gen’rus wif de eatin’s. She suah is. Dey’s suah to be some left.”

He removed his hand from the small of his back, thereby allowing himself to fall forward again in the proper position for picking up papers, and went on with his work.

Inside the kitchen, where the odors were even more pronounced, as one might naturally expect to find them, two girls and a pleasant-faced woman were busy; though not more so than a fresh-appearing Finnish maid, who hummed an air full of minor strains as she opened the oven door now and then, thereby letting out more odors which were piled upon, mingled with, and otherwise added to those already bringing such a delicious sensation to Uncle Rufus.

“Aren’t you planning too much, Ruth?” asked her sister Agnes, as the girl addressed carefully placed a wondrously white napkin over a plate of freshly baked macaroons. “I mean the girls will never eat all this,” and she waved her hand to include a side table on which were many more plates, some empty, awaiting their burden from the oven, while others were covered with white linen like some mysterious receptacles under a stage magician’s serviette.

“Oh, don’t worry about that!” laughed Ruth. “My only worry is that I shall not have enough.”

“Well, for the land’s sake! how many do you expect?” demanded Agnes Kenway.

“Six. But there will be you and me and – ”

“Then Mr. Howbridge is coming!” cried Agnes, as if there had been some question about it, though this was the first time his name had been mentioned that morning.

“He may come,” answered Ruth quietly.

“He may ! Oh my stars! As if you didn’t know he was coming!” retorted Agnes. “Is it in – er – his official capacity?”

“I asked Mr. Howbridge to come to advise us about forming the society,” Ruth said. “I thought it best to start right. If we are going to be of any use as a Civic Betterment Club in Milton we must be on a firm foundation, and – ”

“Hear! Hear!” interrupted Agnes, banging on the table with an agate mixing spoon, and thereby bringing from a deep pantry the form and face of Mrs. MacCall, the sturdy Scotch housekeeper.

“Please don’t do that!” begged Ruth.

“Hoots! Whut’s meanin’ wi’ the rattlin’ an’ thumpin’?” demanded Mrs. MacCall.

“Oh, some nonsense of Agnes’,” answered Ruth. “I was just telling her that I had asked the girls to luncheon, to talk over the new Civic Betterment Club, and that Mr. Howbridge is coming to advise us how to get a charter, or incorporate, or whatever is proper and – ”

“I was only applauding after the fashion in the English Parliament,” interrupted Agnes. “They always say ‘Hear! Hear!’ away down in their throats.”

“Well, they don’t bang on tables with granite spoons,” retorted Ruth, as she handed a pie to Linda, the humming Finnish maid, who popped it into the oven, quickly shutting the door, to allow none of the heat to escape.

“Hoot! I would not put it past ’em, I would not!” murmured Mrs. MacCall. “What those English law makers do – I wouldna’ put it past them!” and, shaking her head, she retired into the deep pantry again.

“Well, you’re going to have enough of sweets, I should say;” observed Agnes, “even as fond as Mr. Howbridge is of them. For the land’s sake, aren’t you going to stop?” she demanded, as Ruth poured into a dish the cake batter she had begun to stir as soon as the pie was completed.

“This is the last. You don’t need to stay and help me any longer if you don’t want to, dear. Run out and play,” urged Ruth sweetly.

“Run out and play! As if I were Dot or Tess! I like that! Why, I was thinking of asking you to let me join the society!”

“Oh, of course you may, Agnes! I didn’t think you’d care for it. Why, certainly you may join! We want to get as many into it as we can. Do come to the meeting this afternoon. Mr. Howbridge is going to explain everything, and I thought we might as well make it a little social affair. It was very good of you to help me with the baking.”

“Oh, I like that. And I believe I will come to the meeting. Now shall we clean up?”

“I do him,” interposed Linda. “I wash him all up,” and a sweep of her muscular arm indicated the pots, pans, dishes and all the odds and ends left from the rather wholesale baking.

“Oh, I shall be so glad if you will!” exclaimed Ruth. “I want to go over the parlor and library again. And I wonder what has become of Dot and Tess. I asked them to get me some wild flowers, but they have been gone over an hour and – ”

The voice of Mrs. MacCall from the deep pantry interrupted.

“Hi, Tess! Hi, Dot!” she called. “Where ha’ ye been? Come ye here the noo, and be for me waukrife minnie.”

“What in the world does she mean?” asked Agnes, for sometimes, well versed as she was in the Scotch of the housekeeper, there were new words and phrases that needed translating. Especially as it seemed to the girls that more and more Mrs. MacCall was falling back into her childhood speech as she grew older – a speech she had dropped during her younger life except in moments of excitement.

This time, however, it was beyond even the “ken” of Ruth, who rather prided herself on her Highland knowledge. But Mrs. MacCall herself had heard the question. Out she came from the pantry, smiling broadly.

“Ye no ken ‘waukrife minnie’?” she asked. “Ah, ’tis a pretty little verse o’ Rabbie Burns. I’ll call it o’er the noo.”

Then she gave them, with all the burring of which her tongue was capable:

Coming down to earth again, Mrs. MacCall shot back into the pantry and from an open window in the rear that looked out in the orchard she called:

“Hi, Tess! Hi, Dot! Come ye here, and be for me the lassies that’ll gang to the store.”

“Are Tess and Dot there?” asked Ruth. “I’ve been wondering where they had disappeared to.”

“They be coming the noo,” answered Mrs. MacCall. “Laden in their arms wi’ all sorts of the trash.” And then she sang again:

“What in the world is a ‘waukrife minnie’?” asked Agnes, but there was no chance to answer, for in the kitchen, making it more busy than ever, trooped the two younger members of the Corner House girls quartette – Tess and Dot.