“What in the world!” cried Mrs. Allen, as a small white-faced figure stared at her over the edge of the barrel. “What is it?”
“It’s me,” said Sunny Boy forlornly. “There’s flour all in me, Grandma!”
Grandma had to laugh.
“All over you,” she corrected. “My dear child, are you hurt? And what were you doing to get in the barrel?”
Grandma lifted Sunny Boy out and carried him to the back porch and told him to shake himself as Bruce did after swimming in the brook. Only, instead of water, clouds of flour came out of Sunny Boy’s clothes as he tried to shake like a dog.
“I was getting my saucer pie, Grandma,” he explained when she came back with a whisk-broom and began to brush him vigorously. “If I had some cinnamon I’d be a pie, wouldn’t I?”
With a crash a frightened little boy fell into the flour barrel.