“But they are not fond of sweets like we are,” hinted Anne, wistfully smacking her lips.
“We’ve each had four—all but Jim; he had that broken half and three!” declared John manfully.
“And we must not overeat cakes—there will be bread and jam with tea, you know,” cautioned George.
“Set the dish outside the door and that will end the thing!” said Anne sensibly, as she picked up the plate and did as she suggested.
The door was closed and locked to insure safety to the two cakes, in case any one of the five friends felt like venturing forth and taking a look at them.
“Here’s the chest of clothes,” now called Martha, lifting the lid to display the strange-fashioned garments.
“Try on the flowered silk—and the powdered wig,” cried Anne eagerly, as she lifted the articles from the folds of paper.
While the girls dressed in the quaint garments, the two boys, George and Jack, arrayed themselves in clothes worn at the time of the Civil War. John and Jim assisted enthusiastically and the laughter sounding from the attic drew the attention of old mammy the nurse, as she was passing down the second-floor hallway. She smiled and looked up the stairway, wondering what the youngsters were doing to make such a noise.
“Ah rickon Ah’ll jes’ creep up an’ see ef der all right,” murmured mammy, dropping her mending on a chair and going up.
Outside the room door she spied the dish with the two small cakes in it. She picked this up with a surprised expression on her face, for she knew her daughter had baked delicious cakes for tea.