"_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