Susy began to set the table, and went into the nursery for some cake and
cookies, which were kept in an old tin chest, on purpose for this play
of housekeeping, which had now been carried on regularly every Wednesday
and Saturday afternoon, for some time.

Susy opened the cake-chest, and found nothing in it but a few dry
cookies: the fruit-cake was all gone. Who could have eaten it? Not
Flossy, for she had a singular dislike for raisins and currants, and
never so much as tasted fruit-cake. Not Prudy, for the poor little thing
had grown so lame by this time, that she was unable to bear her weight
on her feet, much less to walk into the nursery. Dotty could not be the
thief. Her baby-conscience was rather tough and elastic, and I suppose
she would have felt no more scruples about nibbling nice things, than an
unprincipled little mouse.

But, then Dotty couldn't reach the cake-chest; so she was certainly
innocent.

Then Susy remembered in a moment that it was Annie: Annie had run into
the house morning and night, and had often said, "I'm right hungry. I'm
going to steal a piece of our cake!"

So it seemed that Annie had eaten it _all_. Susy ran back to Prudy's
sitting-room, where her little guests were seated, and said, trying not
to laugh,--

"Please, ma'am, I just made some eel-jumbles and things, and a dog came
in and stole them."