"There's the cake," he said, at last, in such a deeply thoughtful voice that the cake felt faint with anger.
Then a remarkable thing happened. Some one drew the stand toward them and took the knife and cut out a large slice of the cake.
"Go away," said the cake, though no one heard it. "I am cake! I am rich!
I am not for boys! How dare you?"
Vivian stretched out his hand; he took the slice; he lifted it up, and then the cake saw his red mouth open—yes, open wider than it could have believed possible—wide enough to show two dreadful rows of little sharp white things.
"Good gra—" it began.
But it never said "cious." Never at all. For in two minutes Vivian had eaten it!!
And there was an end of its airs and graces.
BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK
It began with Aunt Hetty's being out of temper, which, it must be confessed, was nothing new. At its best, Aunt Hetty's temper was none of the most charming, and this morning it was at its worst. She had awakened to the consciousness of having a hard day's work before her, and she had awakened late, and so everything had gone wrong from the first. There was a sharp ring in her voice when she came to Jem's bedroom door and called out, "Jemima, get up this minute!"
Jem knew what to expect when Aunt Hetty began a day by calling her "Jemima." It was one of the poor child's grievances that she had been given such an ugly name. In all the books she had read, and she had read a great many, Jem never had met a heroine who was called Jemima. But it had been her mother's favorite sister's name, and so it had fallen to her lot. Her mother always called her "Jem," or "Mimi," which was much prettier, and even Aunt Hetty only reserved Jemima for unpleasant state occasions.