Indeed, they were rich-looking pies that Sally had spread on a board before her in the sun. Some of them were ornamented with tiny white pebbles, some of them were crimped round the edges like a real crusty pie. But all of them were as smooth as patting could make them, because patting was the part of mud-pie making that Sally liked best of all.
‘I like to mix and I like to stir,’ said Sally, ‘but, oh! I love to pat.’
This morning it looked as if Sally had done a great deal of patting. Her hands were black and sticky and her romper was well spattered all up and down the front.
But how could Sally help this when she was stirring up a great bowlful of thick brown mud?
‘I will make a big cake, I think, for Paulina,’ decided Sally. ‘Perhaps it will be a birthday cake with little sticks for candles.’
So round and round in the battered bowl went the old tin spoon, and out of Sally’s little blue watering-can came the water in a lively shower. Sally stirred and stirred and added more dirt.
‘It is too thin,’ said Cook Sally. ‘It is like jelly. I shall have to dig more dirt from this hole.’
But before Sally could even turn round she heard Mother’s voice calling.
‘Sally! Sally!’
Down went the spoon and up rose Sally. It was too bad to be interrupted, but when Mother called there was nothing to do but to go.