After thanking the manager for his kindness, shaking hands all around, and bidding him good-night, the little party hurried home.
All that night Wallace dreamed that he was putting loaves of bread into a big oven and lifting them out, brown and crisp, on the end of a long-handled shovel, loading them into a delivery wagon, and driving all over the city, so that the people could have fresh bread for breakfast.
IV. Where the Wheat Comes From
At the table the next evening the children were still talking about their visit to the bakery.
“Well, children,” said their father, “we followed the flour through the bakery to the loaf on our table. What do you say if we take a little journey to the place where the wheat comes from.”
“Fine!” cried Wallace. “When can we start?”
“Right now, son, but it will be a stay-at-home journey,” said Mr. Duwell; and everybody laughed.
“Let us see,” Mr. Duwell went on; “where did the thousand bags of flour we saw in the bakery come from?”
“I know,” said Ruth. “I read ‘Minn.’ on one of the bags.”