`` I do n't know how much I want , nor what sort of yarbs to put in , and he 's so awful big , I 'm kind of afraid of him . '' `` I ai n't ! I fed him all summer , and he never gobbled at me . I feel real mean to be thinking of gobbling him , poor old chap , '' laughed Prue , patting her departed pet with an air of mingled affection and appetite . `` Well , I 'll get the puddin ' off my mind fust , for it ought to bile all day . Put the big kettle on , and see that the spit is clean , while I get ready . '' Prue obediently tugged away at the crane , with its black hooks , from which hung the iron tea-kettle and three-legged pot ; then she settled the long spit in the grooves made for it in the tall andirons , and put the dripping-pan underneath , for in those days meat was roasted as it should be , not baked in ovens . Meantime Tilly attacked the plum-pudding . She felt pretty sure of coming out right , here , for she had seen her mother do it so many times , it looked very easy . So in went suet and fruit ; all sorts of spice , to be sure she got the right ones , and brandy instead of wine . But she forgot both sugar and salt , and tied it in the cloth so tightly that it had no room to swell , so it would come out as heavy as lead and as hard as a cannon-ball , if the bag did not burst and spoil it all . Happily unconscious of these mistakes , Tilly popped it into the pot , and proudly watched it bobbing about before she put the cover on and left it to its fate . `` I ca n't remember what flavorin ' Ma puts in , '' she said , when she had got her bread well soaked for the stuffing . `` Sage and onions and apple-sauce go with goose , but I ca n't feel sure of anything but pepper and salt for a turkey . '' `` Ma puts in some kind of mint , I know , but I forget whether it is spearmint , peppermint , or penny-royal , '' answered Prue , in a tone of doubt , but trying to show her knowledge of `` yarbs , '' or , at least , of their names . `` Seems to me it 's sweet marjoram or summer savory . I guess we 'll put both in , and then we are sure to be right . The best is up garret ; you run and get some , while I mash the bread , '' commanded Tilly , diving into the mess . Away trotted Prue , but in her haste she got catnip and wormwood , for the garret was darkish , and Prue 's little nose was so full of the smell of the onions she had been peeling , that everything smelt of them . Eager to be of use , she pounded up the herbs and scattered the mixture with a liberal hand into the bowl .
`` It does n't smell just right , but I suppose it will when it is cooked , '' said XXXXX , as she filled the empty stomach , that seemed aching for food , and sewed it up with the blue yarn , which happened to be handy .
Tilly cannon-ball catnip fust marjoram puddin right suet tea-kettle wormwood