T (To)	O dry Angelica	Page1
	To preserve green Apricocks	2
	To make Goosberry Clear-Cakes	3
	To make Goosberry-Paste	4
To dry Goosberries		5

To preserve Goosberries	6
To dry Cherries	7
To make Cherry-Jam	8
To dry Cherries without Sugar	ibid.
To dry Cherries in Bunches	9
To make Cherry-Paste	ib.
To preserve Cherries	10
To dry Currants in Bunches, &c.	11
To make Currant Clear-Cakes	12
To preserve red Currants	13
To make Currant Paste, either red or white	ib.
To preserve white Currants	14
To preserve Rasberries	15
To make Jam of Rasberries	16
To make Rasberry-Paste	ib.
To make Rasberry Clear-Cakes	17
To make Rasberry-Drops	18
To dry Apricocks	ib.
To dry Apricocks in Quarters or Halves	19
To make Paring-Chips	20
To preserve Apricocks	21
To make Apricock Clear-Cakes	22
To make Apricock-Paste	23
To make Apple-Jelly for all Sorts of Sweet-Meats	ib.
To make Apricock-Jam	24
To preserve green Jennitins	ib.
To dry green Plums	25
To dry Amber, or any white Plums	26
To dry black Pear-Plums, or Muscles, or the Great Moguls	28
To preserve black Pear-Plums or Damascenes	30
To preserve white Pear-Plums	ib.
To make white Pear-Plum Clear-Cakes	31
To make white Plum-Paste	32
To make red Plum Clear-Cakes	33
To make red Plum-Paste	34
To dry Plums like the French Plums, with Stones in them	ib.
To dry Peaches	35
To make Peach-Chips	36
To preserve or dry Nutmeg-Peaches	37
To preserve Cucumbers	ib.
To dry green Figs	39
To dry black Figs	40
To preserve Grapes	41
To dry Grapes	ib.
To dry Barberries	42
To preserve Barberries	43
To make Barberry-Drops	ib.
To make white Quince-Marmalet	44
To make red Quince-Marmalet	45
To preserve whole Quinces	46
To make Quince-Chips	47
To make Quince-Paste	48
To make Quince Clear-Cakes	ib.
To preserve Golden or Kentish-Pippins	49
To preserve whole Oranges or Lemmons	50
To dry Oranges in Knots, or Lemmons	52
To make China-Chips	54
To make Orange-Paste	ib.
To make Orange-Drops	55
To make Orange-Marmalet	56
To make Orange or Lemmon Clear-Cakes	ib.
To make Pomegranate Clear-Cakes	58
To make Orange-Halves, or Quarters, with the Meat in them	59
To preserve Citrons.	60
To make Citron-Marmalet	61
To candy Orange-Flowers	ib.
To make Rock-Sugar	63
To make Fruit-Biscuit	65
To make all Sorts of Sugar-Paste	66
To make Chocolate-Almonds	67
To make Wormwood-Cakes	ib.
To make Honycomb-Cakes of Orange-Flower-Violet of Cowslips	68
To make Ice Almond-Cakes	ib.
To make Bean’d-Bread	69
To make Orange or Lemmon-Puffs	70
To make Almond-Paste, either Bitter or Sweet	71
To make little round Ratafea-Puffs	72
To make Brown Wafers	ib.
To make Almond-Loaves	73
To make Chocolate-Puffs	74
To make Ratafea-Drops, either of Apricock-Kernels, or half Bitter and half Sweet-Almonds	ib.
To make all Sorts of Sugar-Puffs	75
To make Almond-Paste	ib.
To make long Biscuit	76
To make Spunge-Biscuit	77
To make round Biscuit with Coriander-Seeds	78
To make Hartshorn-Jelly	79
To make Lemmon-Jelly	ib.
To make Butter’d Orange	80
To make Eringo-Cream	ib.
To make Barley-Cream	81
To make Ratafea-Cream	ib.
To make Almond-Butter	82
To make a Trifle	ib.
To make all Sorts of Fruit-Cream	83
To make Sack-Posset, or Sack-Cream	ib.
To make Blamange	84
Lemmon-Cream, made with Cream	85
To make Citron-Cream	ib.
To make Pistato-Cream	86
To make Clouted-Cream	ib.
To make a very thick, raw Cream	87
To make Spanish-Butter	ib.
To make Orange-Butter	88
To make Almond-Butter	89
To make Trout-Cream	ib.
To make Almond-Cream	90
To make Raw-Almond, or Ratafea-Cream	91
To make Chocolate-Cream	ib.
To make Sego-Cream	92
To ice Cream	ib.
To make Hartshorn-Flummery	93
To make perfum’d Pastels	94
To burn Almonds	95
To make Lemmon-Wafers	ib.
To candy little green Oranges	97
To candy Cowslips, or any Flowers or Greens, in Bunches	ib.
To make Caramel	98
To make a good Green	99
To Sugar all Sorts of small Fruit	ib.
To scald all Sorts of Fruit	100

decoration

decoration

Mrs. EALES’s

he sort who ought to look down into the garden where Rosanna played and where she herself sat in state and had tea served of an afternoon.

At one side of the garden where the roses were wildest and the flowers grew thickest was a little cottage, built to fit Rosanna. Grown people had to stoop to get in and their heads almost scraped the ceilings. The furniture all fitted Rosanna too, even to the tiny piano. This was Rosanna's playhouse. She kept her dolls here, and there was a desk with all sorts of writing paper that a maid sorted and put in order every morning before Rosanna came out.

This doesn't sound as though Rosanna was such a poor little girl, does it? But just you wait.

A good ways back of this playhouse was another small building that looked like a little stable. It was a stable—a really truly stable built to fit Rosanna's tiny pony. He had a little box stall, and at one side there was space for the shiniest, prettiest cart.

Rosanna did not go to school. There was a schoolroom in the house, but I will tell you about that some other time. Rosanna disliked it very much: a schoolroom with just one little girl in it! You wouldn't like it yourself, would you?

Rosanna's clothes were the prettiest ever; much prettier then than they are now. And such stacks of them! There was a whole dresser full of ribbons and trinkets and jewelry besides. (Poor little Rosanna!)

She danced like a fairy, and every day she had a music lesson which was given her, like a bad pill, by a severe lady in spectacles who ought never to have tried to smile because it made her face look cracked all over and you felt so much better when the smile was over. Oh, poor, poor, poor little Rosanna!

Do you begin to guess why?

You have not heard me say a word about her dear loving mother and her big joky father, have you? They were both dead! This is such a pitiful thing to have come to any little girl that I can scarcely bear to tell you. Both were dead, and Rosanna lived with her grandmother, who was a very proud and important lady indeed. There was a young uncle who might have been good friends with Rosanna and made things easier but she scarcely knew him. He had been away to college and after that, three years in the army. Once a week she wrote to him, in France; but her grandmother corrected the letters and usually made her write them over, so they were not very long and certainly were not interesting.

Mrs. Horton was sure that her son's little daughter could never be worthy of her name and family if she was allowed to "mix," as she put it, with other children. So Rosanna was not allowed to have any other children for friends, and Mrs. Horton was too blind with all her foolish family pride to see that Rosanna was getting queer and vain and overbearing. Every day they took a drive together, usually through the parks or out the river road. Mrs. Horton did not like to drive down town. She did not like the people who filled the streets. She said they were "frightfully ordinary." It was a shameful thing to be ordinary in Mrs. Horton's opinion. She had not looked it up in the dictionary or she would have chosen some other word because being ordinary according to the dictionary is no crime at all. It is not even a disgrace.

Rosanna's books were always about flowers and fairies, or animals that talked, or music that romped up and down the bars spelling little words. There were never any people in them, and if any one sent her a book at Christmas about some poor little girl who wore a pinafore and helped her mother and lived in two rooms and was ever so happy, that book had a way of getting itself changed for some other book about bees or flowers the very night before Christmas.

"She will know about those things soon enough," said Rosanna's grandmother.

But every afternoon when they sat in the rose arbor in the middle of the beautiful garden, Rosanna would get tired reading and she would stare up at the clouds and see how many faces she could find.

One day she startled and of course shocked her grandmother by saying in a low voice, "Dean Harriman!"

"Where?" said Mrs. Horton, staring down the walk.

"In that littlest cloud," said Rosanna, unconscious of startling her grandmother. "It is very good of him, only his nose is even funnier than it is really. Sort of knobby, you know."

"Please do not say 'sort of,'" said Mrs. Horton. "And if you are looking at pictures in the clouds, I consider it a waste of time, Rosanna!"

She struck a little bell, and the house boy came hurrying across the lawn. Mrs. Horton turned to him.

"Find Minnie," she said, "and tell her to send Miss Rosanna a volume of Classical Pictures for Young Eyes."

So Rosanna looked at Classical Pictures, and for that afternoon at least kept her young eyes away from the clouds. And never again did she share her pictures with her grandmother.

Rosanna was not a spiritless child, but every day and all day her life slipped on in its dull groove and she did not know how to get out.

Poor little Rosanna! To the little girl behind it, a six-foot brick wall looks as high as the sky. And the garden, as I have told you before, was a very, very big garden indeed. Plenty large enough to be very lonesome in.

One morning Mrs. Horton was not ready to drive at the appointed time. Rosanna was ready, however, and was dancing around on the front porch when the automobile rolled up. She ran toward it but drew back at the sight of a strange chauffeur. He touched his cap and said "Good morning!" in a hearty, friendly way, very different to the stiff manner of the man who had been driving them. Rosanna went down to him.

"Where is Albert?" she asked.

"He does not work here now," said the man. "I have his place."

"What is your name?" said Rosanna.

"John Culver," said the new chauffeur. "What is your name?"

Rosanna frowned a little. She liked this new man with his crinkly, twinkly blue eyes and white teeth. A deep scar creased his jaw, but it did not spoil his friendly, keen face. But chauffeurs usually did not ask her name. There had been so many going and coming during the war. She decided to walk away but could not resist his friendly eyes.

"I am Miss Rosanna," she said proudly.

"Oh!" said the man, and Rosanna had a feeling that he was amused. So she went on speaking. "I will get in the car, if you please, and wait for my grandmother."

He opened the door of the limousine and before she could place her foot on the step, he swung her lightly off her feet and into the car.

"There you are, kiddie!" he said pleasantly, and Rosanna was too stunned to say more than "Thank you!" as the door opened and her grandmother appeared, the maid following, laden with the small dog.

Mrs. Horton nodded to the new man and gave an order as he closed the door.

"Our new man," said Mrs. Horton to Rosanna, then settled back in her corner and took out a list which she commenced to check off with a gold pencil. Rosanna, holding the dog, looked out the windows.

There were children all along the street: little girls playing dolls on front doorsteps and other little girls walking in happy groups or skipping rope. Boys on bicycles circled everywhere and shouted to each other. They made a short cut through one of the poor sections of the city. Here it was the same: children everywhere, all having the best sort of time. They were not so well dressed, that was all the difference. They had the same carefree look in their eyes. Rosanna gazed out wistfully, longingly.

And now you surely guess why Rosanna, with her beautiful home, her pony and her playhouse, her lovely garden, and her room full of pretty things, still was so very, very poor.

Rosanna did not have a single friend.

---

lass="pginternal">To dry Peaches