“You’ll find every good housewife has one of me in a tiny grater hanging where she can find it in the dark. Your puddings, and pies, and gingerbreads, and cakes, and blanc-manges, and egg noggs, and—”
“Here! Here! my dear lady, we can’t wait to let you go through the whole cook-book. We’ll take your word for it. Now since I seem to belong to the same family, perhaps I had better entertain you next.
TALE OF THE CINNAMON DOLL
“I am called Cinnamon, and I’m just about as spicy as any of you. I am exactly as important to the pickled peaches as is Miss Clove, and where would the coffee cake be without me, I’d like to know?”
He paused and gazed about in a dramatic way that convulsed Jack, who whispered:
“Isn’t he funny, Mother, so long and lank, and such an expression I never saw!”
“Did any of you ever hear of cinnamon candy?” continued the speaker. “Could it be cinnamon candy without me?”
As no one replied to this, he cried:
“Certainly not! and now I will show you where I grow. It is right here,” and, with one stride of his long legs one foot rested on the Island of Ceylon in the Indian Ocean near Persia.