Part 11 (1/2)

Old Mrs. Lear broke into cackling laughter. ”You gals don't want none o'

that! This here is soap and I'm head over heels in it. That's why I'm workin' so late.”

”Soap,” repeated Penny with deep respect. ”Why, I thought soap was made in a factory.”

Mrs. Lear was pleased at the girl's interest. ”Most of it is,” she said, ”but not my soap. This here is homemade soap and I wouldn't trade a cake of it for all the store soap ye can lug home--not for heavy cleanin', I wouldn't.”

Moving near enough to the fire to see the greasy mixture bubbling in the kettle, Penny asked Mrs. Lear if she would explain how soap was made.

”Bless you, yes,” the old lady replied with enthusiasm. ”You are the first gal I ever ran across that was interested in anything as old fas.h.i.+oned as soap makin'. Why, when I was young every girl knew how to make soap and was proud of it. But nowdays! All the girls think about is gaddin' and dancin' and having dates with some worthless good-for-nothin'. Come right up to the fire and I'll show you something about soap makin'.”

Mrs. Lear poked the glowing logs beneath the kettle.

”First thing,” she explained, ”is to get your fire good and hot. Then you add your sc.r.a.p grease.”

”What is sc.r.a.p grease?” Louise asked, greatly intrigued.

”Why, bless you, child, that's the odds and ends of cookin' that most folks throw away. Not me though. I make soap of it. Even if it ain't so good smellin' it's better soap than you can buy.”

The girls looked over the rim of the steaming kettle and saw a quant.i.ty of bubbling fats. With surprising dexterity for one of her age, Mrs. Lear inserted a long-handled hoe-shaped paddle and stirred the mixture vigorously.

”Next thing ye do is to cook in the lye,” she instructed. ”Then you let it cool off and slice it to any size you want. This mess'll soon be ready.”

”And that's all there is to making soap,” Penny said, a bit amazed in spite of herself.

”All but a little elbow grease and some git up and git!” the old lady chuckled. ”Them two commodities are mighty scarce these days.”

While the girls watched, Mrs. Lear poured off the soap mixture. She would not allow them to help lest they burn themselves.

”I kin tell that you girls are all tuckered out,” she said when the task was finished. ”Just put your horses in the barn and toss 'em some corn and hay. While you're gone I'll clean up these soap makin' things and start a mess o' victuals cookin'.”

Mrs. Lear waved a bony hand toward a large, unpainted outbuilding. Louise and Penny led their horses to it, opening the creaking old barn door somewhat cautiously. A sound they could not instantly identify greeted their ears.

”What was that?” Louise whispered, holding back.

”Only a horse gnawing corn!” Penny chuckled. ”Mrs. Lear must keep a steed of her own.”

It was dark in the barn even with the doors left wide open. Groping their way to empty stalls, the girls unsaddled and tied the horses up for the night. Mrs. Lear's animal, they noted, was a high-spirited animal, evidently a thoroughbred.

”A riding horse too,” Penny remarked. ”Wonder how she can afford to keep it?”

Finding corn in the bin, the girls fed Bones and White Foot, and forked them an ample supply of hay.

”Now to feed ourselves,” Penny sighed as they left the barn. ”My stomach feels as empty as the Grand Canyon!”

The girls had visions of a bountiful supper cooked over the camp fire.

However, Mrs. Lear was putting out the glowing coals with a bucket of water.

”Come into the house,” she urged. ”It won't take me long to git a meal knocked up. That is, if you ain't too particular.”