The lamb was brown and crisp on the top when Molly turned the under side up, so that it might become equally so. Marta brought the macaroni back to the stove, and Molly poured over it the tomato juice she had put to reduce. There was enough to moisten the macaroni and yet leave a little in the saucepan. She put it at the back of the stove, where it would keep about boiling-point, but not burn. “Now the cabbage, Marta. You see this water is boiling _very fast_; put it in gently, so that if there is too much in the saucepan you may dip some out before it overflows,—no, it all goes in, and the water covers it well; now put in one table-spoonful of salt and one _scant_ salt-spoonful of baking soda. Remember, Marta, cabbage must never be allowed to remain long in hot water before it boils up; it must boil _very fast_; for that reason it must always be in the hottest part of the stove, and there must be _abundance_ of water and the saucepan always large. As soon as it comes back to the boiling-point, take off the cover, and leave it off all the while, and push the cabbage down under the water from time to time. The whole secret of boiling cabbage _without filling the house with a bad odor_ and sending to table a vulgar, yellow, wilted vegetable, full of dyspepsia, is to remember—_rapid boiling, plenty of water, plenty of room, and the cover off_.” She took off the stove-lid as she spoke, and brightened the top of the fire, and in another minute the cabbage was “galloping.” “Twenty-five minutes from now it will be done. Now, Marta, I want you to run to that white house across the lot, and ask for half a pint of cream.” The peaches were cut up, and Molly put them in a bowl and set it _on_ the ice. When she came back she grated a small piece of cheese, about as big as her thumb, and shook it into the macaroni, shaking the saucepan about, so that it would mix without breaking the pipes, and set it back to keep hot. There was nothing to be done now till the cabbage was cooked. Suddenly Molly remembered something she had forgotten, and stopped short, very much vexed. “I have no cake to eat with the peaches, and Harry is so fond of cake! I’ve just time to make a ‘fifteen minutes’ cake,’ and I will. No, _I wont_! it will make getting dinner on time a scramble; I shall go in flushed and heated, and Harry will think I am killing myself, and Marta will think she may scramble ever after. We will do without cake.”