“Where did you get them?� asked Anne.
“From under the back-porch steps.�
“That’s queer!� said Anne. “I wonder——�
“Come on, Anne, and let’s start our next rows at the same time, so we can race—and talk,� called Patsy.
Anne went her way and forgot the little sticks that smelled of oil.
Sweet William put them aside presently and had a party—filling some oyster shells with make-believe dainties and setting them out on a flat stone.
Mrs. Mallett, who came to consult Mrs. Wilson about some Red Cross work, paused to watch the youngster who was the Village pet.
“You are having a fine party, ain’t you?� she said.
“It’s a birthday party,� he said. “But I’m just having ash-cake. I reckon Mr. Hoover wouldn’t want me to have fruit cake and pie. Mother says he wants us to save everything we can, so as to feed our armies and our Allies.�
“Bless your heart!� she said. “I wish the grown folks ’round here would act that way. You know,� she said, turning to Mrs. Wilson, “those Andrewses and Joneses and Walthalls aren’t making a mite of change in the way they eat, for all the government tells them ‘food will win the war’ and ‘if we waste at home, our boys over there will go hungry.’�