Molly’s own dinner being soup, veal cutlets, potato croquettes, Lima beans, and apple pudding, and the soup ready, all but heating it, she meant to make the pudding and prepare the croquettes, and leave Marta to her own resources for the vegetables and breading cutlets,—she, herself, would be back in time to see the actual cooking of her own meat. But of her own cooking I will speak in the next chapter. At three o’clock, then, Molly went over to Mrs. Lennox, whom she found busy feather-stitching several yards of navy blue cashmere ruffling with red crewel. “This is for Milly’s fall frock; it was first my dress, then Lily’s, now it comes to Milly, and the red will make a change.” “You have far more patience than I,” said Molly. “Yes, I don’t know what I should do without it. Must the cooking begin now? I hate to lose daylight.” “Yes, the pot-pie will take long, slow cooking to be good, but you can come back in half an hour.” “Oh! suppose we have that steak fried—just for to-day; well pounded it will be tender enough. I hate to leave this.” “I will go down, then, if you will let one of the little girls show me where you keep things.” “Oh, no; I can’t let you!” said Mrs. Lennox. “But that is just it; don’t you see yourself I have no time to cook?” Molly longed to say that it seemed as important to her that the food should be well prepared as that the flounce should be feather-stitched, but of course, she said nothing, and the next minute they were down in Mrs. Lennox’s neat kitchen. “This pot-pie I propose making is an English dish my father was very fond of, and it is a little different from our dish of that name.” “This is very kind of you, Mrs. Bishop. I only fear you will see what an up-hill business it is to make a family live well on very little money.” “What do you call little?” asked Molly, busily cutting the steak into finger-lengths. “$80 a month to keep six people, and out of it $20 for rent; that leaves sixty for everything else.” Molly thought that was not too little to insure a plain, solid comfort, but she must gain Mrs. Lennox’s confidence in her ability and good-will before telling her so, and she went on quietly preparing for the pot-pie. CHAPTER VIII. BEEF POT-PIE—LEG OF MUTTON—TWO ROASTS—SEVERAL WHOLESOME ECONOMICAL DISHES. WHEN Molly had cut the steak into finger-lengths, she floured the pieces lightly, and put an iron saucepan that held about three quarts on the stove, and, when it was hot, dropped in the fat of the steak, then the meat, and left them to fry at the bottom of the saucepan. “I should think that would burn,” said Mrs. Lennox. “No, because the meat fat is there; but it has to brown very quickly, or the meat will be hard; that is why I let the saucepan get so hot. Now I want a carrot, an onion, and a turnip—all of medium size.” “I have only small onions.” “Two of those, then.” Molly washed and then began to peel them—the turnip thick, the carrot very thin.