"I've been thinking of that," answered Meg, "and my husband says that the baker would bake it for you, he thinks, for nothing, if you made the arrangement to buy your flour there. You could make inquiries. Jem says he knew one woman who did regularly."

"I should want some large tins," said Mrs. Blunt.

"I dare say you could pick some up cheap somewhere," said Meg; "but anyway in a week you would save the price of a large tin."

"Should I?" asked Mrs. Blunt.

"Yes; Jem has been reckoning it up, and he says you would save eighteenpence or two shillings a week."

"I should like to save that," exclaimed Mrs. Blunt; "it would buy us a deal of things we have to do without now."

"That it would," said Meg, busily pouring her flour into the pan, and measuring some crushed salt into it. "See, Mrs. Blunt, to my five pounds of flour I put five half teaspoonfuls of salt and five half-pints of lukewarm water. It is very simple."

"But you haven't put the water in yet," said Mrs. Blunt.

"No, because part of that has to melt my yeast. Here it is, feel it-just as warm as new milk. There! now I pour this on the yeast and mix it well; now I make a hole in my flour and pour in my yeast and the rest of my water, and stir it round-so-round and round till it is as thick as a batter and as smooth."

Mrs. Blunt was watching intently. It looked very interesting to see Meg's clean hand going round and round, each time drawing a little flour into the yellow cream in the middle.

"It takes a long time," she remarked.

"Not a bit too long. If you are patient over this part the next will take less time, and your bread will not be lumpy."

While she spoke she plunged her two hands into the middle of the batter and began to knead in the rest of the flour, which stood up round the sides as a sort of wall; and as she kneaded she pushed the middle out and drew the sides in, to Mrs. Blunt's great astonishment.

"You see, I want to work it all smooth, and when it is in a round cushion it is done."

"Does it go into the oven at once?" asked Mrs. Blunt.

Meg laughed merrily. "No; I set it near the fire to rise, and it has to get to more than twice as high as it is now before it is ready. You will have to come up again to see it 'made up' if you want to learn the whole process."

"I'm afraid I should be a long time getting it right," said Mrs. Blunt, sighing.

"It wants experience," answered Meg; "but you would soon know; and if you like to try it, I will look in on you and give you some hints."

"Then I may come up again?" asked Mrs. Blunt, as she saw Meg turn her dough over as a final act, and cover the pan with a clean cloth. "I 'spose it's done for the present?"

"Yes," said Meg, going to the bowl to wash off the flour which clung to her hands, "and when you come up again Pattie shall have a bit of dough all to herself to make into a little loaf."

Pattie, who had stood all the while with her chin over the edge of the pan, absorbed in watching, now clapped her hands gleefully.

"You are very kind, I'm sure," said Mrs. Blunt heartily. "Then you will let me know?"

"I shall not forget, and if it is good bread you shall have a loaf for the children."

"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Blunt, in a very gratified tone.

"Look here," said Meg, considering for a minute or two. "It is half-past ten now, and if I do not put it quite so near the fire it will not be ready till my husband has gone back to work this afternoon. I can keep it back a little. Will you come up directly your children are gone to school, and sit with me for an hour or so while I bake it? That is the best way to learn."

"Oh, thank you!" said Mrs. Blunt; "then I will."

"As I do not want my bread to be late, perhaps you would not mind coming up before you wash up your dinner-plates, then you can run down for that when the bread goes into the oven, and I'll mind the babies."

The mother was only too pleased. Somehow Meg's society was so restful; she chatted about such pleasant things; above all, she seemed to be able to look at everything as coming from a Father's hand above, who allowed even the disagreeable things to happen in truest love.

So Mrs. Blunt went down with fresh heart, and tried her hand at a saucepan of porridge herself, and succeeded as well as Meg had done, to her own great delight.

At two o'clock she once more set out to see the bread made up.

Meg had already cleared away all traces of her dinner; the kettle was on the hob, the fire had been made up, and on the table stood a clean pastry-board, a basin of flour, and a knife.

"The first thing I do when I have got out my things and washed my hands, is to butter my tins-dripping will do. See, here are two that exactly fit into my oven. I take a clean bit of paper and put a little knob of dripping or butter on it, and rub them all over, not missing any place, or the bread will stick. Now I put the tins on the fender to warm; next I cut my dough in half,-look how full of little holes it is! that's what mother at home calls her 'lace,'-and I lift it out on to my board. Here, Pattie, this is a little bit for you. How nice and clean mother has made your hands! Now you'll be able to eat it when it's baked. Now I work and roll this with a little flour which I have sprinkled on the board first, till it feels quite dry again and has left off sticking; this will make the bread white and keep the holes small. Hark how the bubbles break as I pinch it and roll it! There, that will do. Now I must make it into the right shape and put it into the tin."

"Here 'tis," she said, in a satisfied tone. "I knew as 'twas somewheres. Supposin' you and me was to read a bit every night?" p. 105.

She did the same with the other half of the dough, then plunged the knife several times to the bottom of the tin, cut it across the top, and put it back on the fender.

"Now, Mrs. Blunt," said Meg, "I judge by my oven whether to leave it there for a quarter of an hour, or whether to put it into the bottom shelf of the oven. If the bottom is not too hot, that's the best place. Yes, mine is just right; feel what a different heat it is from the top."

"Why do you do that?" asked Mrs. Blunt.

"Because if I put it into the hot part at once it would set the crust of the loaf before it had time to rise, and then the rest would be heavy. I leave it in the bottom just so long as will allow it to begin to rise, about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, and then put it into the top, and my baking begins. You had better wait to see that before you go down again."

"I made some porridge, Mrs. Seymour; and what's more they've eat it, and said it's as good as yours."

"Oh, I am glad!" said Meg, heartily. "When they get used to it, you see if they don't say it's better than mine."

Mrs. Blunt laughed at that, but she knew enough of children by this time to guess that Meg was right.

When she was gone down to wash her dishes, Meg sat down on her low chair with the baby, and drew little Pattie to her knee to hear a story. She told them about the Good Shepherd who loves little lambs, and how He gave His life to save the little lambs from being lost.

Pattie's eyes were very wide open, and she listened as long as there was any "story" in Meg's words. Then when she began to grow fidgety Meg got her to learn the one word "Jesus," and after that she sang to them till their mother came back.

"Now I'm going to fetch my mother-in-law," said Meg; "she's coming to have a cup of early tea with us, while the bread is baking. I do not look at it yet, because I want the oven to keep hot, and I know it will not burn yet."

"If the baker bakes my bread for me, I shall be saved all that," said Mrs. Blunt.

"Yes, so you will; and as your loaves will be large it would be a great help, because a baker's oven is such a nice even heat. Still it is nice to know how to do it."

"Oh yes," said Mrs. Blunt. "I did not mean that."

Meg went upstairs.

"Come, mother," she said, "Mrs. Blunt's there, and I'm going to make the tea. It's early to be sure, but you won't mind."

"I must finish these couple of shirts, my dear."

"Then I'll do that," said Meg, "while you make up your fire. I couldn't venture to do that for you, mother; I shouldn't do it right."

Meg laughed as she said that, and Mrs. Seymour laughed too.

Miss Hobson from the inner room called out cheerily: "Well, it's the only thing as she thinks you can't do to her mind anyway."

"Young folks can't have the experience of us old ones," said Mrs. Seymour. "We can't expect it."

Meg finished the shirts, and then went into the back room to say, "How d'ye do" to her mother-in-law's lodger, while Mrs. Seymour took off her ironing apron, settled her cap aright, and went downstairs.

"I shall bring you a cup of our tea presently," said Meg, "and a bit of bread and butter, so don't settle to sleep yet, Miss Hobson."

"Very well, my dear, I'm glad you told me. Are you going to have a party?"

Meg smiled. "Miss Hobson, I've got a pot of sunshine that won't hold it all, so I'm going to give a little away."

Miss Hobson looked at her curiously, but Meg only nodded and ran off.

Presently Meg allowed Mrs. Blunt to look for a moment with her into the little oven. There were the two loaves brown and crusty, with beautiful white ridges peeping out where the crust had broken, looking the picture of what home-made loaves should be.

"Are they done?" asked Mrs. Blunt.

"Not quite. They are not 'soaked,' as mother would say. If we took them out now they would be wet in the middle."

She quickly shut the oven, looked at her fire, but did not touch it, as she had made it up before the bread went in; and then she turned to her kettle.

"Now boil as soon as you like," she said to it. She spread a cloth, set some teacups, cut some bread and butter, and took out of her cupboard a tin of sardines. "Jem heard what I was going to do, and he brought these home of his own idea; don't you think that was kind of him?" asked Meg.

"That it was," said Mrs. Blunt. "Why, I haven't been out to tea since-not for years."

"Here is the kettle boiling, and here is Pattie's little loaf, just cool enough for her to touch. Come, Pattie, sit on this hassock on the chair by mother, you'll be high enough then."

They gathered round the table while Meg invited her mother to ask the blessing; then they all began. But before Meg tasted hers she took up a couple of thin slices of bread and butter and a sardine on a little tray, with a nice hot cup of tea.

"Brought up some of the sunshine to me?" said Miss Hobson, smiling.

"Oh, I didn't mean that! But if you saw how thin and, careworn and poor she is--"

"I know it-I've seen her often enough. Meg, wasn't it Jem as said that you did with your might 'whatsoever your hand found to do'?"

"No, he said we ought to."

"It's the same thing with you, I'm thinking."

Meg went back to her tea-party, and by-and-by the bread was done, and came out of the oven looking a picture.

"How do you judge?" asked Mrs. Blunt.

But she need not have spoken, for Meg was tapping it with her knuckles, and when she heard it sound clear and bright on every side, she knew it was baked through.

"There, Mrs. Blunt, one of those is for you; see I will stand it on its top on this shelf to let the steam off, and when you go you shall take it with you. Whenever you like, I'll come down and watch you make one or two batches; that is, if mother does not want me."

So the tea-party ended. Mrs. Blunt had not had such a quiet meal for years. Her face looked brighter and happier as she prepared to go back again. Mrs. Seymour had already returned to her ironing, and Meg was putting the loaf on a plate.

"Would you mind saying that text over again?" asked Mrs. Blunt wistfully.

"That about our burdens?" said Meg.

"She's teached me one," said Pattie. "I 'tan say it-'Jesus,'-that's what she teached me."

"So I did," said Meg, kissing her, "and mother's text means just the same, only longer, because she's big. 'Cast thy burden on the Lord, and He shall sustain thee.'"

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