perfectly round and very smooth and brown.

"But the icing!" said Sister aloud. "There's no ICING! I s'pose
Molly didn't have time."

If Sister had stopped to think, she would have remembered that all
the birthday cakes Molly made--and she made seven every year for
the Morrisons, and one for Grandmother Hastings--were always iced
with pink or white or chocolate icing.

But, you see, she didn't stop to think, and when she discovered a
bowl of lovely creamy white stuff on the small table between the
windows, this small girl decided that she would ice the cake and
save Molly the trouble.

There was a little film of water over the top of the bowl, but
Sister took a wooden spoon and stirred it carefully, and the water
mixed nicely with the white stuff, so that she had a bowl filled
with the smoothest, whitest "icing" any cook could ask for.

"I'll get a silver knife to spread it with," said Sister, who had
often watched Molly, and knew what to do.

She brought the knife from the dining-room and had just put one
broad streak of white across the top of the cake when Molly came
down the back stairs and saw her.

"Sister!" cried Molly. "What are you doing with my cold starch?"

"I'm icing the cake," answered Sister calmly. "You forgot it, I