"Bright boy! here's a plum for you," and Polly threw a plump raisin into his mouth.
"Put in lots, won't you? I'm rather fond of plum-cake," observed Tom, likening himself to Hercules with the distaff, and finding his employment pleasant, if not classical.
"I always do, if I can; there's nothing I like better than to shovel in sugar and spice, and make nice, plummy cake for people. It's one of the few things I have a gift for."
"You've hit it this time, Polly; you certainly have a gift for putting a good deal of both articles into your own and other people's lives, which is lucky, as we all have to eat that sort of cake, whether we like it or not," observed Tom, so soberly that Polly opened her eyes, and Maud exclaimed,—
"I do believe he's preaching."
"Feel as if I could sometimes," continued Tom; then his eye fell upon the dimples in Polly's elbows, and he added, with a laugh, "that's more in your line, ma'am; can't you give us a sermon?"
"A short one. Life, my brethren, is like plum-cake," began Polly, impressively folding her floury hands. "In some the plums are all on the top, and we eat them gayly, till we suddenly find they are gone. In others the plums sink to the bottom, and we look for them in vain as we go on, and often come to them when it is too late to enjoy them. But in the well-made cake, the plums are wisely scattered all through, and every mouthful is a pleasure. We make our own cakes, in a great measure, therefore let us look to it, my brethren, that they are mixed according to the
