"Because they don't keep it at Bremen. Sharon is the place; Sharon, near Hilltop."
"Where did you get your information?" returned the lad, rather ruffled. "As often as I've travelled this road I think I ought to know that Bremen is a famous place for sponge-cake. There's an old woman living there that bakes it by the ton."
"Why, Preston Gray, that old woman lives at Sharon! I've seen her my own self. Don't you suppose I know? Why, Uncle Ben has bought sponge-cake of her ever so many times and brought it home to Aunt Charlotte."
One of Preston's dazzling smiles shone through his spectacles as he rejoined,—
"Oh, I dare say he has bought sponge-cake and carried it home to Aunt Charlotte; but that's no sign he has bought it at Sharon. You're mistaken, that's all. Now when you get to Bremen, and you see people stepping out of this car and coming back loaded with sponge-cake, perhaps you'll give up that I'm right."
Flaxie was ready to retort what she did not believe people would get out at Bremen, or if they did they would not find any cake. She was fond of having the last word, but remembering her blunder with the cracker, she said no more, and even thought meekly,—
"Oh, well, perhaps it is Bremen! I almost hope so, for I don't want to wait till we get to Sharon."
She had regained her spirits by this time, and found it very pleasant to be travelling with a kind brother like Preston, who had not a fault in the world except looking down upon her rather too much.
In a few minutes the train halted at Bremen, a small way-station. It did not look at all familiar to Preston. He had supposed Bremen was much larger, but that was probably because he had not been on this road for a whole year, and had forgotten some of the stopping-places. The famous old cake-woman; could it be that she lived here? He had half a mind to ask the conductor; but no; Flaxie would hear him.