"But how then?" asked Charlie, who was wound up to a pitch of curiosity.
"Why, they bake them in a pan too, and twirl it round and round, and then throw it up and run out of doors. The cake goes up chimney, and comes down on the raw side, all right, you see, and drops into the pan before you can count six black beans."
"Oh, I don't believe it!" declared Charlie. "Do you, Granny?"
"They'd have to be pretty quick," was the response.
"You see, a woman never could do it, Charlie," Joe continued in a tormenting manner.
"But, Charlie, a miner's cabin is not very high; and the chimney is just a great hole in the roof," explained Hal.
"'Tory, 'tory," said Dot, who was not interested in the culinary art.
"O Dotty! you'll have a piece worn off the end of my tongue, some day. It's high time you were storing your mind with useful facts; so, if you please, we will have a little English history."
"What nonsense, Joe! As if she could understand;" and Florence looked up from her pretty worsted crocheting.