"It shall be exactly like what Madame Pontier described to Aunt Bertha," she thought; "and I won't forget the _soupçon_ of vinegar and olive oil, which she said was so indispensable. Miss Drummond will be quite amazed when she hears I've evolved it myself. I suppose some people have a natural talent for cooking, the same as they have for painting. Who first thought of all the recipes in the cookery books, I wonder? It's far more interesting to try something original than to make the same stew as we had last week with Miss Reade." Mabel and Dora had hurried back with their baskets, and when Aldred, having secured her miscellaneous collection, followed them leisurely to the cottage, she found them already hard at work, disjointing chops, cutting up carrots and turnips, slicing beans, and peeling potatoes. "We want to get the meat on in good time, and let it cook gently," announced Mabel; "then we can turn our attention to the sweets. Would you rather make the blancmange or the pastry?" "I don't care much about either, if you and Dora want to make them," said Aldred. "I shall have quite enough with the soup and the bread sauce. I might look after the vegetables, if you like." As the others agreed to this division of labour, Aldred retired to the scullery, and started operations. There was a small oil cooker here, which she thought she had better use, as there would not be room for everything on the kitchen stove. She chopped up all her various herbs, put them into a pan with some water, and then began to consider the question of seasonings. "Even Aunt Bertha admitted that French people are cleverer than English at flavourings," she thought. "Madame Pontier said there ought to be a dash of so many things. I'll try a combination of all sorts of spices, not just plain pepper and salt." So in went a stick of cinnamon, a blade of mace, a few cloves, a teaspoonful of ginger, some grated nutmeg, and some caraway seeds. Aldred had not the least notion of how much or how little constituted a "dash", so she put a liberal interpretation on the term and added a teacupful of vinegar, and half a bottle of salad oil. "There! That ought to be worthy of a _cordon bleu_," she said to herself. "Now I must let it simmer away, and it will be delicious." She set her pan on the oil cooker, and ran out to the garden, to pick some flowers for the table. This was a part of the day's work that appealed to her more than the cookery, so she lingered for some time making an artistic combination of poppies, grasses, and sweet scabious. When she arrived back at the cottage, she was greeted by both Mabel and Dora with rueful faces. "Your lamp has been flaring up in the scullery, and has made such a mess!" began Dora. "It's sent black smuts over everything! They came right through into the kitchen, and fell into the blancmange. I had hard work to fish them out."