“Throw in a little flour and a few eggs and we’ll have a birthday cake.”
“Which I would be delighted to do had I those useful ingredients.”
“Ingredients?” said Cinnamon, thinking hard. “Will Little Salt, who is now peeping in the dictionary again, kindly let us know the meaning of that word?”
“It means a part of something,” replied Salt, much dismayed that she had again been caught studying the big book when she should have been listening.
“Yes, a part of something; sugar, eggs and flour are a part of the cake. Now let us hear about this queer tall yellow stick.”
“Very well, Sir. I come from a wild plant from India, Mexico, South America, and most tropical countries. They are here, and here, and here, and here,” and in the twinkling of an eye he had walked about the globe and left his footprint in each place.
“I am also found in the red beet and yellow carrot. Perhaps it will be hard to believe, but this yellow cane, which is as sweet as honey, is placed between two large hard rollers until all the juice is squeezed out.
“This juice is boiled down, and when thick is poured off.”
“Tut, tut, tut,” gurgled the Molasses Jug; “don’t step on my toes.”