"Oh, I should like to," said Polly. "May we?"
"Perhaps not," said grandmother. "We do not need to do so. We have other lights.
"But in those old days, people made their own candles. They called it 'dipping candles.' It was a hard task.
"I am sure that they did not light many at once. I am sure that my grandmother did not have candles on her birthday cakes.
"Now, my son, the wax is dripping on the frosting. The candles are nearly burned. If you will put them out, I will cut my birthday cake."
Mr. Howe pinched the lighted ends in his fingers. He did this very quickly.
"Don't they burn your fingers, father?" asked Polly.
"No, indeed, Polly. I do not give them time to burn me. This is better than to blow them out. Then there is smoke. But children must not do it this way."
Grandmother took the knife and cut the cake. She cut it as a pie is cut. Each one had a very fat piece.
"Now we shall see if this cake is as good as it looks," said grandmother. "I am sure that it is, for your mother is a good cook, Polly."