By the time the pie was in the oven, the lamb had been twenty minutes in the spider,—Marta occasionally stirring it about. Two thirds of a pint of hot water was now added (it left plenty of gravy around the meat, yet _did not cover it_), the parsley was put in, and the spider closely covered and set where it would _just simmer_, as the success of the dish depended on its simmering, and _not_ boiling. Molly waited to see it come to the boiling-point. “Now, Marta, remember that _to simmer_ means this,” she said, pointing out the gentlest little sizzling round the edge of the pan. “Perhaps you hardly think it is cooking at all, but that scarcely perceptible motion is what I mean when I say, ‘let it simmer;’ faster than that would be boiling. You must understand these distinctions if ever you hope to make a good cook. We are going to have Lima beans, and stuffed potatoes, and cheese canapées—to use up the baker’s bread—and, as I do not mean to be in the kitchen to-night except just as you broil the steak, I will get everything ready now.” So saying, she cut slices of bread half an inch thick, then, with a large round cutter, cut circles; these she cut in half—they were not the true crescent shape that canapées should be, but they would answer; then she put a table-spoonful of butter in a small saucepan (using a saucepan, because to fry, or rather sauter, so little, the butter required would be twice as much if it had to go over the large space of a frying-pan), and then she fried four of the canapées a very light brown. When done she took them up, and grated about an ounce of cheese, and setting the canapées on a small tin ready for the oven, she heaped the grated cheese on them, then sprinkled on them a little pepper and salt. “Marta, those are ready, but need not go into the oven till I tell you. At five you wash four large potatoes and put them into the oven; at a quarter past you can put the Lima beans into a saucepan of boiling water, with two tea-spoonfuls of salt and one of sugar; let them come quickly to the boil again.” Molly took the pie out of the oven. It was beautifully brown, and the edge, half an inch thick when it went into the oven, was now more than double, and more flaky than real puff paste, as generally made. “Now, Marta, I’ll leave you to set the table quite alone to-night, and to do everything by yourself, except broil the steak, which I have not yet shown you how to do, and to dress the vegetables. Chop ready for me two table-spoonfuls of parsley and one slice of onion very fine.” Molly had to congratulate herself on having gotten so far forward with the dinner, for just as she was leaving the kitchen Mrs. Lennox came.