"I'll hang it," said Davie, clattering off down the stairs with a will.

"No, I will!" shouted Joel, going after him at double pace; and
presently both came up with shining faces, and reported it nicely
done.

"And now," said Polly, after they had all sat around the stove
another half-hour, watching and sniffing expectantly, "the cake's
done!--dear me! it's turning black!"

And quickly as possible Polly twitched it out with energy, and set
it on the table.

Oh, dear; of all things in the world! The beautiful cake over which
so many hopes had been formed, that was to have given so much
happiness on the morrow to the dear mother, presented a forlorn
appearance as it stood there in anything but holiday attire. It was
quite black on the top, in the center of which was a depressing
little dump, as if to say, "My feelings wouldn't allow me to rise to
the occasion."

"Now," said Polly, turning away with a little ffing, and looking at
the stove, "I hope you're satisfied, you old thing; you've spoiled our
mamsie's birthday!" and without a bit of warning, she sat right
down in the middle of the floor and began to cry as hard as she
could.

"Well, I never!" said a cheery voice, that made the children skip.