"I'd like to know where he's gone, too, and give him a good beating, old
thief!" scolded Bab, remembering their wrongs.

"Oh, dear, yes! I hope the cake burnt him dreadfully if he did eat it,"
groaned Betty, sadly remembering the dozen good raisins she chopped up,
and the "lots of 'lasses" mother put into the dear lost loaf.

"The party's all spoilt, so we may as well go home; and Bab mournfully
led the way back. Betty puckered up her face to cry, but burst out
laughing in spite of her woe.

"It was so funny to see him spin round and walk on his head! I wish
he'd do it all over again; don't you?"

"Yes: but I hate him just the same. I wonder what Ma will say when -
why! why!" and Bab stopped short in the arch, with her eyes as round and
almost as large as the blue saucers on the tea-tray.

"What is it? oh, what is it?" cried Betty, all ready to run away if any
new terror appeared.

"Look! there! it's come back!" said Bab in an awe-stricken whisper,
pointing to the table. Betty did look, and her eyes opened even wider,
-- as well they might, -- for there, just where they first put it, was
the lost cake, unhurt, unchanged, except that the big B had coasted a
little further down the gingerbread hill.