"Bob will think _you_ made these plum sweetmeats, Beulah," said
Maud, with a saucy smile, as she placed a glass plate on the table--"He
never thinks I _can_ make anything of this sort; and, as he is so
fond of plums, he will be certain to taste them; then _you_ will
come in for the praise!"

"You appear to think, that _praise_ he must. Perhaps he may not
fancy them good."

"If I thought so, I would take them away this instant," cried Maud,
standing in the attitude of one in doubt. "Bob does _not_ think
much of such things in girls, for he says ladies need not be cooks; and
yet when one _does_ make a thing of this sort, one would certainly
like to have it _well_ made."

"Set your heart at ease, Maud; the plums are delicious--much the best
we ever had, and we are rather famous for them, you know. I'll answer
for it, Bob will pronounce them the best he has ever tasted."

"And if he shouldn't, why should I care--that is, not _very
much_--about it. You know they are the first I ever made, and one
may be permitted to fail on a first effort. Besides, a man _may_
go to England, and see fine sights, and live in great houses, and all
that, and not understand when he has good plum sweetmeats before him,
and when bad. I dare say there are many _colonels_ in the army,
who are ignorant on this point."

Beulah laughed, and admitted the truth of the remark; though, in her
secret mind, she had almost persuaded herself that Bob knew everything.