Oh, Sally, Sally! If only the big brown-and-gold bumble bee, humming over the roses, could have droned, ‘Sally, keep away from those mud pies.’ If only the birds, flying high in the sky, could have chirped, ‘Sally, keep away from those mud pies.’ If only Snow White, Sally’s little wooden dove, could have warned her away. But Snow White was fastened to Sally’s window-sill in the front of the house, so of course he couldn’t know what Sally was about. And Buff was asleep on the window-sill, and Tippy was tied in Aunt Bee’s cellar. There was really no one to keep Sally away from those mud pies.
So off ran Sally to the end of the garden, where, baking in the sun, lay her row of pies.
Sally counted them.
‘There are four big pies,’ counted Sally, ‘and five little ones, and two crooked little cakes that I must make over again to-morrow, if I can.’
Next, daintily holding back her white skirts, Sally stepped over toward her bowl and spoon and watering-can that were lying where she had left them when Mother called.
‘How I would love to stir this jelly round just once,’ said Sally, looking longingly at the big bowl of soft, brown mud. ‘But I don’t suppose I ought.’
Slowly Sally stretched out her hand toward the spoon, but at that moment a large and hungry mosquito lighted on the back of Sally’s neck.
‘Oh!’ cried she, and gave a little jump.
Poor Sally! If she had jumped to the right or to the left or even backward, nothing would have happened at all. But instead of that, Sally jumped forward. She stepped on the spoon, it turned over under her foot, and down she went with a splash! right into the bowlful of soft, brown ‘jelly.’
‘Mother!’ cried Sally in a piteous voice, ‘Mother!’ and struggled to her feet.