Once upon a time Polly’s mamma was making biscuit for supper.
She sifted the flour so fine, and white;
And kneaded the dough till it was light,
And rolled it out with a rolling pin;
And cut the biscuit round and thin.
Polly watched her do everything; and when the last biscuit was in the biscuit pan, Mamma said:—
“Here is a piece of dough left on my biscuit board. I wonder if there is a little girl in this kitchen who would like to make some little biscuit?”
“Yes, yes,” said Polly, clapping her hands with delight, for, of course, she knew her mamma meant her. “I’d like to make little biscuit all by myself.”
So Mamma tied one of her big aprons around Polly’s neck, and Polly rolled up her sleeves just as Mamma did when she cooked. Then she was ready to begin her biscuit.
“May I sift flour, too?” she asked.
“Yes, indeed,” said Mamma. “You must always sift flour on your board if you want your biscuit to be smooth and nice.”
So Polly sifted the flour so fine and white;
And kneaded the bit of dough so light;
And rolled it out with the rolling pin;
And—
What do you think? Mamma’s biscuit cutter was larger than Polly’s piece of dough!
“I think you will have to borrow Grandmother’s thimble for a biscuit cutter,” said Mamma. A thimble biscuit cutter! Was there ever anything so funny as that? Polly laughed about it all the way upstairs to Grandmother’s room; but when she told Grandmother what she wanted, Grandmother did not think it was strange at all.
“I used to make thimble biscuit when I was a little girl,” she said; and she made haste to get the thimble out of her workbag for Polly.
Grandmother’s thimble was made of shining gold; and oh, what a fine biscuit cutter it made! The biscuit were as small and as round as buttons, and Polly cut enough for Grandmother, and Papa, and Mamma, and Brother Ned, and herself, each to have one for supper that night.
“I think it is fun to make thimble biscuit,” she said as she handed them around in her own blue saucer; and if you don’t believe she was right, make some yourself, and see.
