"Oh, we haven't any raisins," answered Polly.

"Haven't any raisins!" echoed grandma, looking at her over her
spectacles; "what are you goin' to put in?"

"Oh--cinnamon," said Polly, briskly; "we've got plenty of that,
and--it'll be good, I guess, grandma!" she finished, anxiously;
"anyway, we must have a cake; there isn't any other way to
celebrate mamsie's birthday."

"Well, now," said grandma, bustling around; "I shouldn't be
surprised if you had real good luck, Polly. And your ma'll set ever
so much by it; now, if we only could find that receet!" and
returning to the charge she commenced to fumble among her bits
of paper again; "I never shall forget how they eat on it; why, there
wasn't a crumb left, Polly!"

"Oh, dear," said Polly, to whom "Mirandy's wedding cake" now
became the height of her desires; "if you only can find it! can't I
climb up and look on the pantry shelves?"

"Maybe 'tis there," said Mrs. Bascom, slowly; "you might try;
sometimes I do put things away, so's to have 'em safe."

So Polly got an old wooden chair, according to direction, and then
mounted up on it, with grandma below to direct, she handed down
bowl after bowl, interspersed at the right intervals with cracked
teacups and handleless pitchers. But at the end of these
explorations, "Mirandy's wedding cake" was further off than ever.