"I did."
"I like you," said Vivian. "You're such a nice woman. Who's going to eat any of it? Is Lionel?"
"I'm afraid it's too rich for boys," said the woman, but she laughed and kissed him.
"No," said Vivian. "I'm afraid it isn't."
"I shall be much too rich," said the cake, angrily. "Boys, indeed. I was made for something better than boys."
After that, it was poured into a cake-mould, and put into the oven, where it had rather an unpleasant time of it. It was so hot in there that if the farmer's wife had not watched it carefully, it would have been burned.
"But I am cake," it said, "and of the richest kind, so I can bear it, even if it is uncomfortable."
When it was taken out, it really was cake, and it felt as if it was quite satisfied. Everyone who came into the kitchen and saw it, said—
"Oh, what a nice cake! How well your new flour has done!"
But just once, while it was cooling, it had a curious, disagreeable feeling. It found, all at once, that the two boys, Lionel and Vivian, had come quietly into the kitchen and stood near the table, looking at the cake with their great eyes wide open and their little red mouths open, too.