Presently voices were heard approaching, and through the arch which led
to a side-path came two little girls, one carrying a small pitcher, the
other proudly bearing a basket covered with a napkin. They looked like
twins, but were not, for Bab was a year older than Betty, though only an
inch taller. Both had on brown calico frocks, much the worse for a
week's wear; but clean pink pinafores, in honor of the occasion, made up
for that, as well as the gray stockings and thick boots. Both had round,
rosy faces rather sunburnt, pug noses somewhat freckled, merry blue
eyes, and braided tails of hair hanging down their backs like those of
the dear little Kenwigses.

"Don't they look sweet?" cried Bab, gazing with maternal pride upon the
left-hand row of dolls, who might appropriately have sung in chorus, "We
are seven."

"Very nice; but my Belinda beats them all. I do think she is the
splendidest child that ever was!" And Betty set down the basket to run
and embrace the suspended darling, just then kicking up her heels with
joyful abandon.

"The cake can be cooling while we fix the children. It does smell
perfectly delicious!" said Bab, lifting the napkin to hang over the
basket, fondly regarding the little round loaf that lay inside.

"Leave some smell for me!" commanded Betty, running back to get her fair
share of the spicy fragrance. The pug noses sniffed it up luxuriously,
and the bright eyes feasted upon the loveliness of the cake, so brown
and shiny, with a tipsy-looking B in pie-crust staggering down one side,
instead of sitting properly a-top.