delicate rye and indian hoe-cake was toasting into sweetness
and brownness. Asahel keeping watch on one side of the fire,
and Winifred at the other burning her little fair cheek in
premature endeavours to see whether the cake was ready to be
turned.

"What's going on here!" said Winthrop, catching her up in his
arms as he came in.

Winifred laughed and kissed him, and then with an earnest slap
of her little hand on his cheek requested to be set down, that
she might see, "if that side wasn't done."

"Yes, to be sure it's done," said Asahel. "Where's mamma to
turn it?"

"Here," said Winthrop, taking up the barrel cover, -- "do you
think nobody can turn a cake but mamma?"

"_You_ can't," said Asahel, -- "you'll let it fall in the ashes,
-- you will! --"

But the slice of half baked dough was cleverly and neatly
slipped off the board and happily put in its place again with
the right side out; and little Winifred, who had watched the
operation anxiously, said with a breath of satisfaction and in
her slow utterance,

"There -- Governor can do anything!"