“Mamma, is this a wedding-cake?”
“No, dear; we only have wedding-cake when people are married.”
“Oh, I forgot that! ’Course we don’t!”
Jimmy looked abashed. How could he have been so stupid? He knew now why the boys had laughed at him. Yes, and why Dick Somers was always enjoying such an astonishing amount of wedding-cake. Dick’s sister had been married in church, and the whole city had been carpeted for her to walk on, or so Dick pretended. And naturally there had been bushels and bushels of cake.
“When are you going to cut this, mamma?”
“To-night, my son.”
“Oh, goody! Wish I had a piece this minute to carry to the boys! Dick Somers thinks we don’t have anything good out here. Why, mamma, he just makes fun of everything in California!”
“You may give him a piece to-morrow, Jamie.”
“May I?”
The little boy gazed wistfully at the cake. He knew mamma had frosted it on purpose to please her children; she and papa never ate any frosting.