“Will it be pie and ice cream to-night, Mother?” asked Lydia, remembering the words of Mary Ellen.
“No,” said Mrs. Blake with a laugh; “Indian pudding to-night.”
“That’s what Sammy would like,” said Lydia, sniffing hungrily. “He’s going to shoot Indians or be an Indian chief when he grows up. He doesn’t know which.”
In the studio a fire was blazing and crackling, and Lydia lay down on the rug to watch it and wait for Father to come home. Her head was whirling with all the pleasant happenings of the day. Even the flames seemed to have merry faces that smiled and nodded to her as they rose and fell.
“Red and orange and yellow fairies, and little blue ones too,” thought Lydia. “And they dance and they dance and they never stop. I wonder if they ever go to bed?” And with that Lydia shut her eyes and sailed off to sleep herself.
Miss Puss jumped down from the window-sill and sat before the fire to wash her face. But though she was busy she kept her eyes wide open, and every now and then she changed her place, because the fire was crackling harder than ever, and little yellow sparks were flying about. Suddenly an extra big spark lighted on the rug close beside Lydia. The little yellow light grew larger and larger, and soon it began to creep closer and closer to the sleeping little girl.
And what did wise Miss Puss do then?
Out into the kitchen she ran where Mother was making the Indian pudding.
“Meow! Meow!” said Miss Puss, pulling at Mrs. Blake’s apron with her paw. “Me-o-ow!”
“What is it, Miss Puss?” said Mother. “I never heard you cry like that before.”