The Story of a Summer | Page 7

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.
Se?or 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 Se?or 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 Chatelaine 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 pass some sad hours at Chappaqua this summer, but I do not think we shall suffer from ennui--that is, if the startling events of the past week are to be repeated often during the summer.
I have already spoken of the escaped convict whom we saw in the grass the other day. It is unnecessary to say that we carefully barricaded our doors that night; for, in case of danger, our situation would not be a cheerful one--a household of seven helpless women, save during papa's weekly visit, and Bernard, our only protector, asleep in the side-hill house. Our precautions, however, were superfluous; the convict did not favor us with a visit, but something far more thrilling than the loss of the family silver was in store for us.
Dear Ida has received since last fall scores of letters from, I think, every State in the Union, and even from Europe, from people of whom she had never heard before, and upon all sorts of subjects. Some of her correspondents are interested in