Elizabeth crouched beside the oven, her tears dropping on the cakes.
“O, come now—no need to cry all over ’em—they’re flat enough without any extra wetting,” Sadie exclaimed after a moment’s silence. “You just fling them out an’ make some more after breakfast. I bet you’ll never leave out the baking powder again.”
“I never, never could again,” sobbed Elizabeth.
“O, forget it, an’ come on in to breakfast,” Sadie said with more sympathy in her heart than in her words.
“I don’t want any—I couldn’t eat a mouthful. You take in the coffee, Sadie—everything else is on the table.”
“Well, you just make more cakes then. They’ll be all right—the next ones—I know they will,” and coffee-pot in hand, Sadie whisked into the dining-room.
And the next cakes were all right. Sadie gloated over them as Elizabeth spread the icing, and added the fancy touches with pink sugar and citron.
When she had gone away with the cakes Elizabeth cooked and cleaned, washed dishes, and swept, but all the time her thoughts followed Sadie. She dared not let herself hope, and yet the time seemed endless. But at last the front door slammed, there were flying feet in the hall, and Sadie burst into the kitchen, flushed and triumphant.
“O—O Sadie—did you—will they——?” Elizabeth stumbled over the words, her breath catching in her throat.
Sadie tossed her basket on the table and bounced into the nearest chair. “Did I, and will they?” she taunted gaily. “Well, I guess I did and they will, Elizabeth Page!”