opping. Dinah was also away, on a visit to some
relatives, so the children had the house all to themselves.

It was Bert who spoke about cake-making first. Queer that a boy should
think of it, wasn't it? But Bert was very fond of cake, and did quite
some grumbling when none was to be had.

"It ought to be easy to make a nice big plain cake," said Bert. "I've
seen Dinah do it lots of times. She just mixes up her milk and eggs and
butter, and sifts in the flour, and there you are."

"Much you know about it!" declared Nan. "If it isn't just put together
right, it will be as heavy as lead."

"We might take the recipe out of mamma's cook-book," went on Bert; and
then the cry went up with which I have opened this chapter.

The twins were soon in the kitchen, which Dinah had left spotlessly
clean and in perfect order.

"We mustn't make a muss," warned Nan. "If we do, Dinah will never
forgive us."

"As if we couldn't clean it up again," said Bert loftily.

Over the kitchen table they spread some old newspapers, and then Nan
brought forth the big bowl in which her mother or the cook usually mixed
the cake batter.

"Bert, you get the milk and sugar," said Nan, and began to roll up her
sleeves. "Flossie, you can get the butter."

She would have told Freddie to get something, too--just to start them
all to work--but Freddie was out of sight.

He had gone into the pantry, where the flour barrel stood. He did not
know that Nan intended to use the prepared flour, which was on the
shelf. The door worked on a spring, so it closed behind him, shutting
him out from the sight of the others.

Taking off the cover of the barrel, Freddie looked inside. The barrel
was almost empty, only a few inches of flour remaining at the bottom.
There was a flour scoop in the barrel, but he could reach neither this
nor the flour itself.

"I'll have to stand on the bench," he said to himself and pulled the
bench into position. Then he stood on it and bent down into the barrel
as far as possible.

The others were working in the kitchen when they heard a strange _thump_
and then a spluttering yell.

"It's Freddie," said Nan. "Bert, go and see what he is doing in the
pantry."

Bert ran to the pantry door and pulled it open. A strange sight met his
gaze. Out of the top of the barred stuck Freddie's legs, with a cloud
of flour dust rising around them. From the bottom of the barrel came a
succession of coughs, sneezes, and yells for help.