“Yes, nowadays I do, whether I feel hungry or not: I sit down and force myself to eat, and I do it leisurely also, for if I finish eating in ten minutes I take a book or newspaper and spend the full hour resting, then I go to work fresh again; although I confess I do it often in spite of my nerves, which urge me to finish. But I do it, and I know that eating nothing at all or a mere snack in a hurry, at noon, and then keeping on with the sewing, or preserving, or shopping, is what wears out half us American women. I used to get tired and faint about three o’clock, after doing very little, and was almost ashamed that I, a healthy young girl, should do so when I saw elderly women keep on from morning till night. You and your mother first awakened me to the fact that it was lack of food. My own dear mother had been like myself all her life, neglecting her noon meal, simply because she never felt hungry. _Now_ I get a meal of some substantial kind, and I make Marta do the same, for she also is inclined to take a standing lunch,—just a bit of bread and cheese, she likes best.” “Well, I don’t believe people can work well if they do not eat sensibly. I can eat three meals comfortably, but I agree with Dr. Richardson: we could do without both the others better than the mid-day meal. I suppose if you and I had kept on for a couple of hours longer we should have been a pair of wilted beings.” “Yes, there is nothing like leaving off and resting _before_ one is really tired, if one wants to get through a great deal without feeling it; but it is a very difficult thing to do.” “I know it; especially difficult to those who need it most,—the nervous, energetic women; to the phlegmatic ones it comes easy enough, and they seldom overwork.” “I have eaten the last of your ‘weal and hammer,’ my dear, and I agree with Silas Wegg: ‘it mellars the organ,’—and now I am ready for work. The next thing is to ice those cakes, I suppose, and I will put on the sugar to boil.” “No, I have French icing ready, but I forgot until this minute to make some coloring; I bought the cochineal yesterday.” “Well, there’s plenty of time; it will only take a few minutes; I’ll put it to boil and we will both get the Genoese cakes ready while it does so.” Molly handed to her a packet containing an ounce of cochineal and one of cream of tartar, mixed; this was put to boil in half a pint of water, and was to reduce to half. While this was going on Molly got out some raspberry jam and the lemon paste she had made. “I wonder what I should have done if these good things had not come so apropos!”—alluding to her mother-in-law’s gift. “Done, my dear? You would not have felt the lack of them; you would just have made your jumbles and some cocoanut macaroons and cones; made some sponge drop-cakes, which you would have iced, and would have forgotten to wish even that you had not the other things; I know you, Molly.”