ightened, while all the children watched the spoon as
it went round and round, while the toffee gradually became darker and
darker in colour, and an odour more strong than agreeable filled the
kitchen.

At length the hand of the clock reached the point which marked Rosy's
six minutes. All four cups were brought forward, all four spoons were
dipped into the foaming liquid, and then emptied into the water. The
toffee fell to the bottom in a dark cake, which hardened almost
instantly, and which, when broken between the teeth, snapped without
sticking at all, and tasted--ugh!

At this moment Mrs. Herbert appeared.

"I am afraid you are letting the toffee burn," she said; "we can smell
it all over the house."

"It is rather burnt," said Tom.

"It does not taste so badly, though," said Margaret.

"Very likely we shall not taste the burnt part so much when it is cool,"
said Rosy.

"I am afraid you will have to throw the toffee away, my dears. It is
sadly burnt."

"Oh, no, no!" said all the children at once.

"I thought we should have done better as there were four of us," said
Margaret.

"Perhaps, after all, it is not an advantage to have so many helpers,"
said Tom.

"At any rate," said Mrs. Herbert; "you will have proved the truth of the
proverb, 'Too many cooks spoil the broth'--I mean the toffee. And after
all, in cookery, as in other things, nothing teaches like failure which
is made the most of."

"Never mind, Mary," whispered Margaret, as the burnt toffee was carried
off to cool. "We have made a good many excellent dishes when we two were
the only cooks, and mother was the teacher; we will try toffee again
another day, when we are by ourselves."

On that occasion I think we may perhaps venture to predict that the
toffee will be a greater success.

THE RIVAL MOTHERS.

[Illustration: MEASURING THE BABIES. (_See p. 337._)]

Said Mistress Bear to Mistress Fox,
"Your girl is very small."
Quoth Mistress Fox, "It is not so;
Your boy is not so tall."

"My boy is tall and sturdy too,"
Cried Mistress Bear with ire;
"And he's a handsome little lad,
The image of his sire."

"His sire! Ha, ha! why, all the world
Says, 'Ugly as a bear.'"
The very trees with laughter shook,
As thus they wrangled there.

"Ho, ho! dear ladies, what's the fuss?"
Two waggish bears stray'd by.
The gentle mothers told their tale,
A tear-drop in each eye.

"Call here