“The Washington-pie,” explained Jimmy to Mr. Sanford. “It’s just a cake with jelly in. I don’t know why folks call it a pie. Vendla is making it for George Washington; it’s his birthday to-morrow.”
“Aren’t you a little mistaken there, Jimmy? To-morrow will be Fourth of July, not Washington’s Birthday.”
“Oh, wasn’t he born to-morrow? I thought papa said so,” said Jimmy, slowly following Lucy, who had gone in search of the pie.
She had already bounded in at the back door, and, finding no one in the kitchen, had danced along to the pantry. There it was on the shelf by the window. Not a pie,—a lovely, plump brown cake. Some people were coming visiting to-morrow, perhaps a good many people, and Washington with them. That was the reason the cake was so very large, Lucy thought.
Was it cooling properly? The child hopped about, making little exclamations, and thinking Washington would like his cake, it was so large and brown, and so slippery smooth.
“Tastes like choc-lid drops, I s’pose. No; like candy-mels. Wish I knew how it does taste.” She gazed and gazed. “Would mamma care if I should touch it with my finger,—so,—my littlest finger, just to see ’f it’s hard? I wouldn’t hurt it any! Why, it’s just as soft!”
Delightful discovery! And, being soft, a scrap of it adhered to that littlest finger. Only a tiny scrap. And pray, what could Lucy do but put it in her mouth?
“’Tis like choc-lid drops. No; I don’t know—maybe it’s like candy-mels. Can’t tell ’thout I have a bigger piece.”
The first hole had been no deeper than the dimple in Lucy’s cheek; the next hole went farther in. She was ready for the third nibble when her brother entered the pantry.
“Lucy Lyman Dunlee!” he exclaimed; “that’s a Fourth o’ July Washington-pie! Made for company! Now you’ll catch it!”