Suddenly everybody beamed and chorused: “Working! Everybody was working! You are called Work!”
“To be sure I am, and a lot of work it took to make this pie. All over the world many, many people had many busy days.
“Can’t you just see them picking the raisins; sugaring the citron; grinding spice; cutting the wheat; packing the oranges; taking care of the cow; gathering the apples, and crushing them in the mill for cider?
“Oh, my dears, there is always work. Johnny Appleseed did an endless amount of work, and see what came from it.
“The one who packed that box of tea and happened to drop a grain of wheat therein, did a wonderful thing. That tiny grain brought us a kind of wheat we might never have had. Can’t you just see them planting that tiny seed? They watched it grow, tending the little sprout till it finally came to maturity, and more grains were planted. At last there was a wonderful crop of wheat, all due to your humble servant Work.”
“Best pie you ever made, my dear”
With a sunny nod he vanished, and they looked and listened, but not even a clank of his girdle charms did they hear.
“Well! Well!” cried Cinnamon. “Wasn’t he fine? Who would ever have thought of him as belonging to mince pie. I fear we were all forgetting that most important point, and glad I am he remembered to appear. And now, my dears, the dawn is breaking, we must return.”
“But the mouse!” cried timid Allspice. “What about the mouse?”