“What is the matter, dears?” asked the Play Angel.
“We wanted to have a grand feast!” said the child whose nursery it was.
“Yes, that would be delightful!” said the Play Angel.
“But there is only one cooky!” said the child whose nursery it was.
“And it is a very small cooky!” said the child who was a cousin, and therefore felt a right to speak.
“Not big enough for myself!” said the child whose nursery it was.
The other two children said nothing, because they were not relations; but they looked at the cooky with large eyes, and their mouths went up in the middle and down at the sides.
“Well,” said the Play Angel, “suppose we have the feast just the same! I think we can manage it.”
She broke the cooky into four pieces, and gave one piece to the littlest child.
“See!” she said. “This is a roast chicken, a Brown Bantam. It is just as brown and crispy as it can be, and there is cranberry sauce on one side, and on the other a little mountain of mashed potato; it must be a volcano, it smokes so. Do you see?”