SOCIETY OF NORTHERN ILLINOIS. 373 



So, another day Madge exerted all her skill on another pie. 

 The pieces she cut quite fine, to be sure and have them cook 

 through. A tea cup of granulated sugar was spread over them, 

 some nutmeg grated evenly on, and some bits of butter put 

 around, and a nice crust firmly crimped on. 



"Now the oven must be just right, surely, or the crust will 

 bake before the apples are done," thought Madge, from her 

 previous experience. So she adjusted everything with the 

 greatest care, and the pie looked so nice, it was with an air of 

 exultation she put it on the dinner table. But lo ! and behold, 

 it was but a counterpart of the first; the same overflowing 

 fluidity, the same obstinacy to cooking soft, and the same want 

 of flavor. 



"Well," said Jerry, "I think you'll have to give up that you 

 can make an apple pie. The grocer said these Ben Davis apples 

 were all the rage now; they are such good keepers." 



"I think they will keep here," said Madge, "unless a small 

 boy or two get into the cellar." 



"How would those Roxbury Russets do that Neighbor Stone 

 gave us?" 



"O, they would never cook; they are harder than a brick." 



"You might try some baked. Mother used to have nice baked 

 apples." 



"O, no apple is good baked after they ripen in the fall," said 

 Madge. 



Nevertheless, a few days after, having nothing else for dinner, 

 she thought she would try those uninviting Russets, and, taking 

 out the core at one end, she filled them with sugar, for Jerry 

 had a sweet tooth, she knew, and, putting them in a not very 

 hot oven, awaited the result with some solicitude. They did 

 look nice about an hour afterward, and surely had a fine fra- 

 grance, so she set them away to cool with a pleasant anticipa- 

 tion of success. And how delicious they were! a light brown 

 color all through, and so rich, and such an exquisite flavor! 



"Now," said Jerry, "life is worth living. These are better 

 than mother's." 



"How I was deceived in them," said Madge, "they were so 

 hard and brown. I trust to appearances no more." 



"Not even in lettuce?" said Jerry. 



"No, not even in lettuce, though you must agree that the let- 

 tuce was as tough as it looked." 



Now Jerry's lettuce was a total failure. The idea of crispi- 

 ness had never entered its head. Indeed, it had no head, only a 

 few oblong, leathery leaves. And a catalogue of flowers and 

 seeds that had somehow found its way into the house, could 

 give no information in regard to it. 



"Isn't it time for string beans, Jerry," said Madge one day, 

 "I am getting tired of potatoes only." 



