“I have a penny,” she said to the Little Lame Boy, “and you and I can have one of those wee loaves together. They have currants in them, so we shall not mind if the loaf is small.”
“No, indeed,” said the Little Lame Boy, whose face had grown wistful when the Biggest Boy had talked of the great loaf. “No, indeed, but you shall take the bigger piece.”
Then the little Baker Man raked out the bright coals from the great oven into an iron basket, and he put in the loaves, every one, while the children crowded closer with eager faces.
When the last loaf was in, he shut the oven door with a clang so loud and merry that the children broke into a shout of laughter.
Then the Queer Little Baker Man came and stood in his tent door, and he was smiling, and he sang again a merry little tune to these words:
“Clang, clang, my oven floor, My loaves will bake as oft before, And you may play where shines the sun Until each loaf is brown and done.”
Then away ran the children, laughing, and looking at the door of the shop where the Queer Little Baker stood, and where the raked-out coals, bursting at times, cast long, red lights against the brown wall, and as they ran they sang together the Queer Little Baker’s merry song:
“Clang, clang, my oven floor, The loaves will bake as oft before.”
Then some played at hide-and-seek among the sheaves of ungarnered corn, and some ran gleefully through the heaped-up leaves of russet and gold for joy to hear them rustling. But some, eager, returned home for pennies to buy a loaf when the Queer Little Baker should call.
“The loaves are ready, white and brown, For every little child in town, Come buy Thanksgiving loaves and eat, But only Love can make them sweet.”