Just Like Magic Read Online Free PDF

garden—you needn’t call me till that’s done.”
When he had gone, I stretched out on my bed. What a morning! The dinner could wait. My thoughts started to drift: dinner later, but no cleaning…cooking shouldn’t be much, and somehow…I’d find a way out…somehow…
When I opened my eyes the room seemed dimmer. Dimmer? What about dinner? What was the time? I jumped off my bed and stared out a window. Past noon! What to do? The roast—I pawed through the packages on the table and found one, large and slightly damp, that I gingerly picked up. Now what? A pan? What did one cook these things in, anyway? I put down the roast, wiped my fingers, and flipped with distaste through Mrs. Homebody’s .
“Of flesh.” That ought to be the right spot. Now where…aha, “Roast Beef.” “Take a six pound Piece of Beef fit for roasting.” Well, I had that. “Rub it all over with a Piece of Suet.” Suet? Wasn’t that something birds ate? Ignore that part. “Make a few small Gashes”—ugh—“and insert Slices of Onion or two small Cloves of Garlic.” Onions? Garlic? I rummaged through the packages Henry had left. Yes, here (I took a whiff and winced) was an onion. But where was some garlic? I finally gave up and read on.
“Set it on a Rack in a Dripping Pan.” I slammed the book down in disgust. Where was a rack? And what on earth was a dripping pan? Why would anyone want a pan that dripped? Searching on the shelves, I finally found a rectangular pan that looked like it would hold the meat. Forget the rack. I turned back to the book.
“Put over it a few strips of Suet”—forget that too—“and set it in a very hot Oven to sear for about fifteen Minutes.” Hot oven. Oh, no. I straightened up and gazed about. How had Henry said to light the oven? With a coal. Gingerly, with a pair of soot-blackened tongs, I took a glowing coal from the fireplace and thrust it into the tinder. It smoldered sullenly, then finally caught a bit of dry straw into a crackling yellow flicker. Good! I slammed the firebox door shut.
But what about the meat? Wearily, I stood up, unwrapped it, and plopped it into the pan. Knife. I needed a knife. Some more digging through a drawer found one, and I made several ragged holes in the roast. Then I cut the onion into four large slices and stuffed them into the holes, papery coating and all. Perhaps it softened as it cooked. Now what? Put it in the oven. I opened the door and shoved the pan in with a sigh, then frowned. The oven didn’t feel hot; it felt lukewarm. I yanked open the firebox door. The fire was out.
I left the oven and strode about the room. Why? Why? Perhaps I could boil the meat! But—no. Even servants could make ovens work. I approached the black iron monster with a steely spark in my eye.
Now let’s think. What did Henry say? Something about hot and not so hot. The thingummy! I reached over and slid it all the way open, then grabbed the tongs and got another coal. In a few minutes the oven was heating nicely. I stared at it distrustfully. It had better work now.
But what else would we eat? Potatoes; I’d seen potatoes when I looked for the onion. Bake them along with the roast, that would be easiest, and boil some vegetables. I grabbed a few potatoes; they looked dirty, so I pumped myself a bucket of water and scrubbed them. There! Surely I had thought of everything. I reached for the oven door, then leaped back, yelping and waving my hand. Hot!
I found a towel to use as a hot pad and somehow chucked the potatoes into the oven. There! Now for the vegetables; what did I have? I rummaged through Henry’s packages again and came up with a bunch of carrots. A pan—water—the pump—push strands of bedraggled hair out of my eyes—wash the carrots—cut off the tops—chop them in pieces—throw the whole mess in the pan on the stove top—collapse on a chair. Dinner! I never wanted to eat again.
But I felt so grubby. Stepping over Archibald, who had come inside when I had gone