Then Katy would send for every recipe-book in the house, and pore over them by the hour, till her appetite was as completely gone as if she had swallowed twenty dinners. Poor Debby learned to dread these books. She would stand by the door with her pleasant red face drawn up into a pucker, while Katy read aloud some impossible-sounding rule.
"This looks as if it were delicious, Debby, I wish you'd try it: Take a gallon of oysters, a pint of beef stock, sixteen soda crackers, the juice of two lemons, four cloves, a glass of white wine, a sprig of marjoram, a sprig of thyme, a sprig of bay, a sliced shalott—"
"Please, Miss Katy, what's them?"
"Oh, don't you know, Debby? It must be something quite common, for it's in almost all the recipes."
"No, Miss Katy, I never heard tell of it before. Miss Carr never gave me no shell-outs at all at all!"
"Dear me, how provoking!" Katy would cry, flapping over the leaves of her book; "then we must try something else."
