“Dat’s so, chile, but co’se yo’ knows you’se mighty likely to spoil dem good t’ings befo’ yo’ get ’em made.”

“Oh, I don’t think I will this time,” said Patty, with that assured little toss of her head which always meant perfect confidence in her own ability.

Mancy said nothing, but grunted somewhat doubtfully as Patty went on to describe the beautiful things she intended to have.

“I want rissoles,” she said, as she turned over the cookery-book, and looked in the index for R.  “They’re awfully good.”

“What’s dem, missy?  I never heard tell of ’em.”

“I forget what they are,” said Patty, “but we had them at Delmonico’s one day, when papa and I were there at lunch, and I remember thinking then they’d be nice for the Tea Club.  They were either some little kind of a cake, or else a sort of croquette.  Either would be nice, you know.  Why, they’re not here.  What a silly book not to have them in!  Oh, well, never mind, here’s ‘Richmond Maids of Honour.’  We used to have those at Aunt Isabel’s, and they’re the loveliest things.  I’ll make those, Mancy; and while I’m doing it you make me some wine jelly and some Bavarian cream, and then I can put them together with marrons and candied cherries and whipped cream and things, and make a Royal Diplomatic Pudding.”

“‘Pears like yo’s makin’ things fine enough for a weddin’,” growled Mancy.

“Well, now, look here, last night you thought the things I had for my evening company were too plain, and now you’re grumbling because they’re too fancy.”

“Laws, honey, can’t you see no diffunce ’tween plain bread and butter and a lot of pernicketty gimcracks that never turns out right nohow?”

A haunting doubt regarding the proportion between her elaborate plans and the simple Tea Club hovered round Patty’s mind, but she resolutely put it aside, thinking to herself, “I don’t care, it’s my first function, and I’m going to have it just as nice as I can.”

Patty always felt particularly grand and grown up when she used the word function, and now that she had mentally applied it to the Tea Club meeting, that simple affair seemed to take on a gigantic amplitude and fairly seemed to cry out for elaborate devices of all sorts.

“Never you mind, Mancy,” she said, “you just go ahead and do as I tell you.  Get the jelly and cream ready, and I’ll do the rest.”

“But ain’t yo’ gwine to have no solidstantial kind o’ food?”

“Oh, yes, of course.  I want a croustade of chicken and club-sandwiches.”

“Humph,” said Mancy, her patience giving out at this, “ef yo’ does, yo’ll hab to talk English.”

Patty laughed.  “You must get used to these names, Mancy, because these are the kind of things I like.  Well, you just boil a couple of chickens, and cut them up small, and see that there are two loaves of bread ready, those long round, crimply ones, you know, and then I’ll put it all together and all you’ll have to do is to brown it.  And I’ll show you how to make the club-sandwiches after lunch.  You might as well learn once for all, you know.  There’s bacon in the house, isn’t there?”