“And now, Granny,” Hazel said when the candles were blown out, “you must cut the cake for the children.”
“Cut the cake for them tricks,” Granny cried excitedly. “No, indeed. The children can have corn-pone. Everybody has got to see my birthday cake. Where did you buy it, honey?”
“I made it,” Hazel answered, and that completed Granny’s amazement and Hazel’s happiness.
The children had their corn-pone, with jelly on it, and the cake was left on the table. News of this wonder soon reached the community, and the first visitors came that evening. For one week the sight lasted. Twelve times did the candles, for a brief space, shine out on the white icing and brighten the flowers. The cake was not moved from the table, but remained there day and night, and the kitten was kept rigidly indoors to frighten away any possible mouse. At length, when the candles had burned to their sockets, Granny cut through the icing and gave a slice to Hazel and one to herself.
Hazel ate and said nothing, but she was glad it had not been cut before. Staleness might seem to account in part for the very heavy character of the half-cooked dough.
But Granny ate her piece as if it had been ambrosia, the food of the gods.
“That are splendid cake,” she exclaimed. “That icing are as sweet as you are, sugar, and I can’t say more.”
And she took another slice.
CHAPTER XII
GOOD-BYE
“Granny, please help me to weave once more,” said Hazel, “and I’ll have a good big piece of cotton cloth.”