"If you had been up since four o'clock making that soup you would not
stand there like a laughing monkey, without the least feeling of pity!"
Poor Lizzie was very sorry, and would have shed tears, but they could
not penetrate that film of soup. I tried to apologize, but could only
laugh the more when I saw Belle crying and Lizzie standing as if hoping
that the soup might be scraped off her and gathered from the floor and
made to do duty on the occasion.

After breakfast, ladies and gentlemen, alike in white aprons, crowded
into the dining room and kitchen, each to perform the allotted task.
George Biddle of Philadelphia and John B. Miller of Utica, in holiday
spirits, were irrepressible--everywhere at the same moment, helping or
hindering as the case might be. Dear Belle, having only partially
recovered from the white-soup catastrophe, called Mr. Biddle to hold the
ice-cream freezer while she poured in the luscious compound she had just
prepared. He held it up without resting it on anything, while Belle
slowly poured in the cream. As the freezer had no indentations round the
top or rim to brace the thumbs and fingers, when it grew suddenly
heavier his hands slipped and down went the whole thing, spattering poor
Belle and spoiling a beautiful pair of gaiters in which, as she had very
pretty feet, she took a laudable pride. In another corner sat Wealthea
Backus, grating some cocoanut. While struggling in that operation, John
Miller, feeling hilarious, was annoying her in divers ways; at length
she drew the grater across his nose, gently, as she intended, but alas!
she took the skin off, and John's beauty, for the remainder of the
festivities, was marred with a black patch on that prominent feature.
One can readily imagine the fun that must have transpired where so many
amateur cooks were at work round one table, with all manner of culinary
tools and ingredients.