“I suppose I am to construe that remark as a hint that you would like to help me?” said Mrs. Burton. “If you will do only what you are told, you may go to the kitchen with me; but listen—the moment you give the cook or me the least bit of trouble, out you shall go.”
“Oh, goody, goody!” shouted Toddie. “An’ can we have tea-parties on de kitchen-table as fast as we bake fings?”
“I suppose so.”
“Come on. My hands won’t be still a bittie, I wantsh to work so much. How many kindsh of pies is you goin’ to make?”
“None at all.”
“Gwacious! I shouldn’t fink you’d call it bakin’-day den. Izhn’t you goin’ to make noffin’ but ole nashty bwead?”
“Perhaps I can find a way for you to make a little cake or some buns,” said Mrs. Burton, relenting.
“Well, that would be kind o’s bakin’-day like; but my hands is gettin’ still again awful fasht.”
Mrs. Burton led the way to the kitchen, and the preparation of the staff of life was begun by the new cook, with such assistance as a small boy wedged closely under each elbow, and two inquiring faces hanging over the very edge of the bread-pan.
“That don’t look very cakey,” remarked Budge. “She ain’t put any powder into it.”