think what you were about. Mum is asleep, and Fan out, so I
loafed down to see if there was any fun afoot," said Tom, lingering, as
if the prospect was agreeable. He was a social fellow, and very grateful
just then to any one who helped him to forget his worries for a time.
Polly knew this, felt that his society would not be a great affliction
to herself at least, and whispering to Maud, "He won't know," she added,
aloud, "Come in if you like, and stir this cake for me; it needs a
strong hand, and mine are tired. There, put on that apron to keep you
tidy, sit here, and take it easy."

"I used to help grandma bat up cake, and rather liked it, if I remember
right," said Tom, letting Polly tie a checked apron on him, put a big
bowl into his hands, and settle him near the table, where Maud
was picking raisins, and she herself stirring busily about among
spice-boxes, rolling-pins, and butter-pots.

"You do it beautifully, Tom. I 'll give you a conundrum to lighten your
labor: Why are bad boys like cake?" asked Polly, anxious to cheer him
up.

"Because a good beating makes them better. I doubt that myself, though,"
answered Tom, nearly knocking the bottom of the bowl out with his
energetic demonstrations, for it really was a relief to do something.

"Bright boy! here 's a plum for you," and Polly threw a plump raisin
into his mouth.

"Put in lots, won't you? I 'm rather fond of plum-cake," observed
Tom, likening himself to Hercules with the distaff, and finding his
employment pleasant, if not classical.

"I always do, if I can; there 's nothing I like better than to shovel in
sugar and spice, and make nice, plummy cake for people. It 's one of the
few things I have a gift for."

"You 've hit it this time, Polly; you certainly have a gift for putting
a good deal of both articles into your own and other people's lives,
which is lucky, as, we all have to eat that sort of cake, whether we
like it or not," observed Tom, so soberly that Polly opened her eyes,
and Maud exclaimed, "I do believe he 's preaching."

"Feel as if I could sometimes," continued Tom; then his eye fell upon
the dimples in Polly's elbows, and he added, with a laugh, "That 's more
in your line, ma'am; can't you give us a sermon?"

"A short one. Life, my brethren, is like plum-cake," began Polly,
impressively folding her floury hands. "In some the plums are all on
the top, and we eat them gayly, till we suddenly find they are gone. In
others the plum