"It's my practice to mix the bitter with the sweet," said the doctor, waving the butter-knife. "In this way, Mother H., your black-valley cake is almost as good as pills."
"I ate a pill," observed Fly, "and 'twas worser'n this!"
"You ate a pill, child? When? Where? I'll warrant that's what ails you."
"No, it don't ail me now. I spitted it out."
After nibbling a few crackers, and the inside of the cake, the happy family moved away from the table, hungrier than when they had sat down.
"What is home without a mother?" sang Horace, in a plaintive voice; and Dotty joined in, with emphasis.
Prudy looked as low-spirited as the "black-valley cake."
"I hope Uncle Augustus will be able to come home to-morrow. I declare, we are real cruel not to feel worse about his being sick away off there in a hotel."
"You'd better believe he gets things to eat," responded Lady Magnifico, aside to the doctor. "I'd rather be some sick than have a landlady that's purblind and purdeaf, and such owdrageous poor cooking! Glad I'm going out to Christmas dinner."