"Oh my!" cried the little fellow. "What made it do that? Was there a fire cracker in it?"
Before any one could answer him another nut burst, and a piece of it hit Dinah on the end of her shiny, black nose.
"What am dat all?" she cried. "Who am frowin' t'ings at me? Was dat yo', Freddie lamb?"
"No, Dinah. It was a chestnut—one of mine. But I don't see what makes 'em pop that way, like corn."
"Did you make any holes in your chestnuts, or cut a little slit in the shell?" asked Bert of his brother.
"No. Do you have to do that?"
"You do unless you want your chestnuts to burst. You see," explained Bert, "there is water inside a chestnut, especially a new one. And when you put a nut on top of the hot stove the water is boiled and turned to steam, just as it is in the tea kettle. Then if the steam can't find any way to get out, as it swells it just bursts the shell of the nut and sends the pieces flying. That's what happened to yours, Freddie. I stuck a fork in each one of mine, and the little holes, made by the fork, let out the steam. Look here."
Freddie went over to the stove to look at the nuts Bert was roasting. Surely enough, from the tiny holes in each one steam was puffing, almost as if from a little toy engine.
"When all the steam gets out and the nut dries, it begins to roast," said Bert. "You must take yours off the stove and fix them that way, Freddie. I meant to tell you about it, but I forgot."
"Bang!" went another nut, bursting, and Dinah held a pan up in front of her face.