So toward evening I made grandmamma a cup of tea. It is not every one
who knows how to make tea. The water must boil and bubble up. It isn't
fully boiling when the steam begins to rise from the spout, but if you
will wait five minutes after that it will be just right for use. Pour a
very little into the teapot, rinse it, and pour the water out, and then
put in your tea. No rule is better than the old one of a teaspoonful for
every cup, and an extra one for the pot. Let this stand five minutes
where it will not boil, and it will be done. Good tea must be steeped
not boiled. Mother's way is to make hers on the table. I have been
drilled over and over in tea making, and am skillful.

I made some dainty slices of toast in this way: I cut off the crust and
put it aside for a pudding, and as the oven was hot, I placed the bread
in a pan, and let it lean against the edge in a slanting position. When
it was a pale golden brown I took it out, and carried it to grandmamma.
The object of toasting bread is to get the moisture out of it. This is
more evenly done in the oven than over the fire. Toast should not be
burned on one side and raw on the other; it should be crisp and delicate
all through.

My tea and toast were delicious, and tasted all the better for being
arranged in the prettiest china we had and on our daintiest salver.

The next morning grandmamma was better, and I had my hands full.




CHAPTER II.