She looked around for a minute; then a thought began to take shape in Drusilla"s mind. She looked at the chef thoughtfully; then, evidently deciding, she gave her head a little toss and with a light laugh left the room, soon to return with a big gingham ap.r.o.n covering her pretty dress. The chef looked at her inquiringly.
"Cook," Drusilla said, "I"m hungry for some home cookin" and I want to do it myself. I ain"t cooked none fer a good many years, and my fingers is jest itchin" to git into the flour. Where"s your flour and things to make cake?"
The chef was shocked.
"_Mais_, Madame."
"Yes, Madame may, and she"s goin" to; so show me where the things is." She rolled up her sleeves. "Now you git me that big yellow bowl, and give me the lard. I"m goin" to make doughnuts--fried cakes I used to call "em, tho" it"s more stylish to say doughnuts these days. I don"t like them that"s bought in the store with sugar sprinkled on top; sugar don"t belong on fried cakes. It takes away their crispiness and you might jest as well be eatin" cake."
Drusilla kept the chef busy waiting on her until she had all the articles needed. Then she turned upon him.
"Now, you go away. Go up to your room, or down to James. I don"t want you standin" round lookin" as if you was goin" to bust every minute. You got to git used to this. I"m goin" to have a bakin" day once a week, same as I did for forty year."
Drusilla spent a happy morning. The "fried cakes" finished, she decided to make some cookies--the "old-fashioned kind that my mother"s sister Jane give me the receipt of; I kind o" want to see if I have lost my hand."
But the hand had not lost its cunning if the great dish of brown, crisp doughnuts, and the cookies and the gingerbread were a test.
After they were baked and in a row on the table, she stepped back and surveyed her handiwork, with a proud expression on her kindly old face.
"Now if I only had some one to come in and say, "Drusilla, is them fresh fried cakes?" and I"d laugh and say, "Yes; do try "em," and they"d eat three or four. Or if I only had some neighbors--"
Drusilla stopped suddenly.
"Now, why _shouldn"t_ I! I"ve got neighbors that"s all been tryin" to be neighborly to me in their way; why shouldn"t I be neighborly in _my_ way? I can"t be neighborly jest leavin" a card, or drinkin" tea with my gloves on--Yes, I will! Drusilla"ll be neighborly in _Drusilla"s_ way."
She was as delighted as a child at the thought. She hurried into the pantry and returned with some plates and napkins. She piled a few of her confections upon each plate, carefully covered it with a napkin, then called William.
"William," she said, "you take that plate o" cookies over to Mis"
Gale"s, and tell her that I sent "em, bein" it was my bakin" day. See she gets "em and they don"t stop in the kitchen. And take that plate o" gingerbread to Mis" Cairns; and them fried cakes to Mis" Freeman; and tell "em all I sent "em with my love. Tell "em I made "em myself."
William looked at her but did not move.
"What you lookin" at me fer? Take "em as I said. Put "em in a basket if you can"t carry "em, or have one of the girls help you."
"But, ma"am, but--"
"But what? Ain"t you never took cookies to one before?"
"Why--why--no, ma"am. Never in the houses where I"ve served--"
"Now that"ll do, William. Don"t begin that. That"s what James always says when he specially wants to be disagreeable. If you haven"t ever took a neighbor a plate o" cookies or some gingerbread, right hot out of the oven, you"ve missed a lot. So do as I say!"
"But--ma"am--I"m sure they have all the cakes they need. Mr. Cairns is a--very--very rich man, and they have a cook, a French cook. Why, he has an income of more than a million dollars a year, and--and--"
Drusilla looked at him over her gla.s.ses.
"Land o" Goshen, has he? That"s a heap o" money; but I"m sure that if he has a French cook like mine, he"ll be mighty glad to have an old-fashioned fried cake; so take that plate to him too, and I"ll fix another for Mis" Freeman. He ain"t never sence he was a boy set his teeth in better fried cakes. Perhaps the cookies won"t be so much to his taste; but you tell "em they"re nice fer the children to slip in their ap.r.o.n pockets to eat at recess."
William executed his errand, although with a feeling that the dignity of the place was not being upheld. There was a luncheon party at the Cairns mansion, and when the butler brought in the plate of cookies and the doughnuts and delivered the message, trying his best not to smile, Mrs. Cairns looked at them in dismay.
"What did you say, John?"
"Miss Doane sent them to you with her love. She said that it was her baking day, and that she had made them herself. The cookies are for the children to slip in their ap.r.o.n pockets and eat at recess,"
recited the butler with an immobile face.
Mrs. Cairns raised the napkins and surveyed the cakes; then she looked at her husband and her guests. They laughed; that is, the guests did, but not Mr. Cairns.
"Take them to the kitchen, John," Mrs. Cairns ordered. "The servants may have them."
"No; bring them here, John," Mr. Cairns said sharply. "You may go and say that Mrs. Cairns thanks Miss Doane very much for her thoughtfulness in remembering her on her baking day, and that she is sure she will enjoy the doughnuts--and the cookies will be given to the children."
The servant left the room, and Mr. Cairns sat very quietly looking at the plates before him. He took up one of the doughnuts, studied it, then finally took a bite of it.
"Hot," he said, "and crispy."
He was quiet a moment, with a far away look in his eye; then, as if noticing the silence of his guests, he said with a quiet laugh:
"It takes me back--back--. Bless her old soul! I understand. And it takes me back--and--well, I"m a boy again and I can see Mother standing over the stove, and I can smell the hot cakes when I come in from school, and hear her say, "Jimmie, take your hands out of that crock! No, you can"t have but one. Well, two, but no more. Now take that plate over to Mis" Fisher and that one to Miss Corbin--""
He was quiet again for a few moments; then, as if coming back to the world beside him, he said in his usual even tones:
"Shall we go into the library?"
And the guests did not laugh again.
Drusilla was neighborly in other ways besides that of sending cakes and cookies on her baking day. One day she heard that Mrs. Beaumont, who lived in the first house below her, was ill. "She has a bad cold," Miss Lee told her, "and they are afraid it might develop into pneumonia. But, between you and me, she"s just bored to death and doesn"t have enough to interest her."
As soon as her visitor left, Drusilla went upstairs, and came down with a little package in her hand and an old-fashioned sunbonnet on her head. She went out of the gate and down the road until she came to the great gates that guarded the home of the multi-millionaire who lived there.
She was told at the door that Mrs. Beaumont was not receiving, but she told the man to tell his mistress that she had something special for her and would not detain her but a moment. The man rather unwillingly took her message, and returning in a few moments conducted Drusilla into a luxurious bedroom, where a very beautiful woman was lying upon a chaise lounge, dressed in an elaborate peignoir, her hair covered by a marvelous creation that went by the name of boudoir cap. She languidly gave her hand to Drusilla.
"You want to see me?" she murmured in a low, languid voice. "Won"t you please sit down? And excuse my appearance. I am not receiving-- but--but--I thought I would see _you_."
Drusilla sat down.
"Now that"s real nice of you to see me. I heard you was sick--had a bad cold; and I thought I"d come in and see if I couldn"t help you. I brung some boneset. I nursed a lot when I was younger, and I found that boneset is the best thing in the world fer a cold. Jest make a tea of it and drink it hot. It"s kind of bitter, but you can put milk and sugar in it if you want to--though, to my notion, that makes it worse. Then git right into bed and cover up and sweat. It"s the best thing in the world fer a cold--jest sweat it out of you. If you should put a hot brick or a hot flatiron at your back and another at your feet, it"d help. By to-morrow you won"t know you got a cold."
The woman"s face was a study; but the doctor entered at that moment and saved her. She said:
"Dr. Hodman, this is Miss Doane, my nearest neighbor."
Drusilla shook his hand heartily.
"I"m real glad to see you. I"ve brung Mis" Beaumont some herbs. A little boneset. I told her to make a good strong cup o" tea of it, and drink it hot, then git into bed and cover up warm, and sweat, and by to-morrow she wouldn"t know she had a cold."
The doctor looked from Drusilla to Mrs. Beaumont, hardly knowing what to say. This little old lady, with her sunbonnet and her boneset tea, was not the usual visitor he encountered in the homes of his fashionable patients.
"Yes," said Mrs. Beaumont, "and--and--Miss Doane was telling me that a hot brick--what was it you said, Miss Doane?"