“I don’t want Veva meddling in the kitchen,” observed Mrs. Fay, with emphasis.  “The maids are vexatious enough, and the cook cross enough as it is.  If ever Veva learns breadmaking, it must be outside of this house.”

“Don’t bother me, daughter,” said Mrs. Partridge, looking up from the cup she was painting.  “It will be time for you to learn breadmaking when the bakers shut their shops.”

As for the writer of this story, her mother’s way had been to teach her breadmaking when she was just tall enough to have a tiny moulding-board on a chair, but Milly did not feel qualified to take hold of a regular cooking class.  It was the same with Linda Curtis.  Grandmamma suggested our having a teacher, and paying her for her trouble.

“Miss Muffet?” said Veva.

“Miss Muffet,” we all exclaimed.

“And then,” said Jeanie, “our money will enable her to buy the winter cloak she is so much in need of, and she will not feel as if she were accepting charity, because she will earn the money if she teaches us.”

“Indeed, she will,” exclaimed Veva.  “I know beforehand that she will have one fearfully stupid pupil, and that is Veva Fay.”

Breakfast was no sooner over next morning, and grandmamma dressed and settled in comfort, than away we flew to our friend.  “We,” means Linda and myself.  She is my nearest neighbor, and we often act for the club.

Miss Muffet lived by herself in a bit of a house, her only companions being a very deaf sister and a very noisy parrot.

“Passel o’ girls!  Passel o’ girls!” screamed the parrot, as we lifted the latch and walked up the little bricked pathway, bordered with lady-slippers and prince’s feather, to the porch, which was half hidden by clematis.

Miss Muffet was known to every man, woman and child in Bloomdale.  She was sent for on every extra occasion, and at weddings, christenings and funerals, when there was more work than usual to be done, the little brisk woman, so quiet and so capable, was always on hand.  She could do a little of everything, from seating Tommy’s trousers to setting patches in Ellen’s sleeves; from making lambrequins and table scarfs to laundrying lace curtains and upholstering furniture.  As for cooking, preserving and canning, she was celebrated for miles around and beyond our township.

“Would Miss Muffet undertake to show a few girls how to make bread and rolls and biscuit and sally-lunn, and have patience with them till they were perfect little housekeepers, so far as bread was concerned.”

It was some little time before we could make Miss Muffet understand our plan, and persuade her to let us pay for our lessons; but when she did understand, she entered into the plan with enthusiasm.

“La me!  What a clever notion to be sure!  Sister Jane, poor dear, would approve of it highly, if she weren’t so deaf.  Begin to-day?  Well, well!  You don’t want the grass to grow under your feet, do you?  All right!  I’ll be at your house, Milly, at six o’clock this evening to give the first lesson.  Have the girls there, if you can.  It’s as easy to teach a dozen as one.”