"Maggie, Maggie, why didn't you tell me it was time to look at it?"
"Sure, honey, didn't yo' tol' me I must have nuffin to do with it?"
"Yes, but——" the sentence ended in sobs.
"Never mind, Beth," said Harvey; "Maggie will make you another, won't you, Maggie?"
"I don't want her to make me another. I was going to take a prize with this one, and the judges won't give prizes for burnt cake, boo-hoo."
Suddenly Beth resolved not to cry over spilt milk. She jumped to her feet.
"Harvey, run away. I'm going to make another cake, and I won't let it burn. I'll get the prize yet."
Harvey reluctantly departed. Beth immediately went to work and made another. When once it was in the oven, she watched it so carefully that Maggie feared it would be spoiled by overzeal. For a wonder, it was a great success. A professional cook could not have made a better-looking cake.
By this time, it was growing so late that Beth did not wait to make frosting.
She took her dress and cake over to the Fair building, which was about a quarter of a mile from her home. She was in plenty of time to make her entries.