"Oh, it's burning!"
"Gipsy! Stir it!"
"It's boiling over!"
"Take it off, quick!"
Half a dozen eager hands snatched at the pan, but it was too late; the sugary compound rose like a volcano and overflowed into the fire. A wail of lament came from the disappointed girls.
"I knew it would!" protested Lennie.
"Oh, it's made an awful smell! Open the window, somebody!" shrieked Gipsy. "If we don't mind, Poppie'll nose it out, and come poking up. Oh! Good gracious!"
Gipsy might well exclaim, for there, just behind them, stood Miss Poppleton herself. She had been walking along the passage, and attracted by the smell of burning, she had opened the door quietly to ascertain the cause. There was a moment of awful silence. Eleven sinners felt themselves most horribly caught.
"Who brought these things here?" demanded Miss Poppleton, eyeing the tray and its paraphernalia.
"I did. I got them from the kitchen," answered Gipsy. "We always made Fudge in the schoolroom in Dorcas City," she added, with a spice of defiance in her voice.