"She opened my eyes," and she nodded
affectionately at her cousin.
"There's one thing we must learn to make or we won't be true campers,"
insisted Tom.
"What is it? I'm game to make it or eat it," responded Roger instantly.
"Spider cakes."
"Spiders! Ugh!" ejaculated Della daintily.
"Hush; a spider is a frying pan," Ethel Brown instructed her. "Tell us
how you do them, Tom," she begged.
"You use the kind of flour that is called 'prepared flour.' It rises
without any fuss."
The Ethels laughed at this description, but they recognized the value in
camp of a flour that doesn't make any fuss.
"Mix a pint of the flour with half a pint of milk. Let your spider get
hot and then grease it with butter or cotton seed oil."
"Why not lard."
"Lard will do the deed, of course, but butter or a vegetable fat always
seems to me cleaner," pronounced Tom wisely.
"Won't you listen to Thomas!" cried Roger. "How do you happen to know
so much?" he inquired amazedly.
"I went camping for a whole month once and I watched the cook a lot and
since then I've gathered ideas about the use of fat in cooking. As
little frying as possible for me, thank you, and no lard in mine!"
They smiled at his earnestness, but they all felt the same way, for the
girls were learning to approve of delicacy in cooking the more they
cooked.
"Go ahead with your spider cake," urged Margaret, who was writing down
the receipt as Tom gave it.
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