Molly had never seen such toys before, and she was enraptured with them, declaring she should learn to make them for her friends at home.
"You can do it, if you try," said Marjorie, sagely; "but they aren't easy to make. Father does them so beautifully, because he is patient and careful. But you and I, Molly, are too slapdash. We'd never take pains to make them so neatly."
"Yes, I would," declared Molly, positively; "because I see how nice they look when they're done well! I don't want any broken-legged pigs, or tumble-to-pieces dolls."
"That's the way to talk," said Mr. Maynard, approvingly; "I foresee, Molly, we shall be great friends, and I'll teach you the noble art of what I call 'pantry sculpture.'"
After the turkey and other substantial dishes had been disposed of, dessert was brought, and, to the great delight of the children, it comprised many and various confections.
First, there was placed at each plate a dear little mince pie, hot, and covered with a drift of powdered sugar. In the middle of each pie stood a lighted candle.
"Oh, ho, it's somebody's birthday!" cried King, as he saw the candles.
"Somebody's only one year old, then," said Molly.
"These aren't birthday candles exactly," said Mr. Maynard. "They're just candles to keep the pies hot. But as I want to eat my pie, I'll just eat the candle first, and get it out of the way."
So saying, he calmly blew out the flame, and in a moment had eaten the candle, wick and all!