"Ah!" it said; "I thought so. Now I shall be rich, and admired by everybody."
The farmer's wife then took some of it out in a large white bowl, and after that she busied herself beating eggs and sugar and butter all together in another bowl: and after a while she took the flour and beat it in also.
"Now I am in grand company," said the flour. "The eggs and butter are the colour of gold, the sugar is like silver or diamonds. This is the very society for me."
"The cake looks rich," said one of the daughters.
"It's rather too rich for them children," said her mother. "But Lawsey, I dunno, neither. Nothin' don't hurt 'em. I reckon they could eat a panel of rail fence and come to no harm."
"I'm rich," said the flour to itself. "That is just what I intended from the first. I am rich and I am a cake."
Just then, a pair of big brown eyes came and peeped into it. They belonged to a round little head with a mass of tangled curls all over it—they belonged to Vivian.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Cake."
"Who made it?"