The Professor's wife finished speaking to Mary, and turned to her daughter Elizabeth, saying, "It is time I mix the dough if we are to have 'Boova Shenkel' for dinner today. I see the potatoes have steamed tender." "Oh, goody!" said Pauline, "I just love 'Boova Shenkel!'" "Then," said her Mother, "run down into the cellar and get me three eggs for them, and Mary, I'll write off the recipe for you, if you wish it, as I feel sure you'll like them as well as Pauline. And Elizabeth, dust powdered sugar over this plate of 'Rosen Kuchen,' and you, Mary and Pauline, leave this hot kitchen and have lunch out in the 'Espalier,' as your Father calls it." "I think," said Mary to Elizabeth, after they were seated in the shade, prepared to enjoy the "Rosen Kuchen," "this little, natural, home-grown summer-house is the oddest and prettiest little place I've ever seen." "Yes," assented Elizabeth, "Father said he made it as nearly like as possible to a large one at Weisbaden, no great distance from his old home in Germany. He says the 'Frauer Esche,' meaning Weeping Ash, at Weisbaden, had tables and benches placed beneath spreading branches of the tree, and picnics were frequently held there. This one was made by the larger branches of the Weeping Ash, turning downward, fastened by pieces of leather to a framework nailed to the top of posts in the ground, about two yards apart, surrounding the tree. The posts, you notice, are just a little higher than an ordinary man, and when the leaves thickly cover the tops and sides, protecting one from the sun's rays, it is an ideal Summer-house. We frequently sit here evenings and afternoons; Mother brings her sewing and Pauline her doll family, which, you know, is quite numerous." "I never saw a Summer-house at all like it," said Mary.