A TALK WITH FATHER AND MOTHER
At dinner Father said, “I like cherry pie.”
“I like it,” said Mother.
“So do I,” said Bobby.
“We are like blackbirds,” said Betty.
“How do you make that out?” asked Father.
“Blackbirds they love cherry pie,” said Betty.
“When did you learn that old song?” asked Father.
“Last night,” answered Betty. “It’s in my book.”
“There’s a pieman in my book,” said Bobby. “Simple Simon met him. Simple Simon wanted to buy a pie, but he didn’t have a penny.”
“It takes money to buy a pie,” said Father. “Simple Simon learned that.”
“If I meet a pieman, I’ll buy a pie,” said Betty. “I’ll give him my penny for a pie.”
“Are there any piemen now?” asked Bobby.
“Piemen do not walk the streets now,” answered Father. “They sell pies and cakes in shops.”
“Is the baker a pieman?” asked Bobby.
“We don’t call him a pieman,” said Father, “but he makes and sells pies.”
“The baker sells bread, too,” said Betty. “He sells rolls and buns.”
“Why does the baker wear a white coat?” asked Bobby.
“He wants to keep clean,” said Mother. “He wants to keep everything in his shop nice and clean.”
“Bakers used to wear white aprons,” said Father. “Bakers and piemen always wore clean white aprons.”
“Where is the baker’s oven?” asked Betty. “I didn’t see it.”
“It is in his kitchen,” answered Mother.
“He must have a big oven,” said Betty.
“He has,” said Mother. “And he has a long wooden shovel to take the bread from the oven.”
“I’d like to be a baker,” said Bobby. “I’d like to have a baker’s shop and a great big oven. I’d like to make pies and cakes and muffins and bread and buns.”
“Let’s play we have a baker’s shop,” said Betty. “Let’s play we are baking bread in an oven. Let’s take the bread from the oven with a long wooden shovel.”
So Bobby and Betty played they were bakers. They made an oven with their blocks. And they made mud pies and little cakes and put them in their oven.
For study and play:
Pat it here, and pat it there,
What a dainty prize!
Bake it on a shingle—
Nice mud pies!
King Pippin built a fine new hall,
Pastry and pie crust were the wall;
Windows made of black pudding and white,
Slates were pancakes, you ne’er saw the like.
Blackbirds they love cherry pie,
Quick they eat and off they fly.
