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Four little ones pattered after Mamma Mouse, and eight bright eyes spied a dinner worth running for. Never mind what they did; but when Johnnie awoke at the strains of the closing hymn and tried to remember what had gone wrong, he saw nothing of the pink-frosted cakes save some scattered crumbs. What could have become of them, he thought, in bewilderment.
The good man's eyes tried not to twinkle as he removed the unusual offering, and passed on more quickly than was his wont. Miserable Johnnie, with his face as red as a rooster's comb and eyes cast down in shame, saw nothing but the green squares on the carpet and the dreadful pink-frosted cakes.
Ministers' sons, somehow, have a bad reputation. Little Johnnie was one and he thought it pretty hard to have to go to church on Thanksgiving Day. But the pink-frosted cakes "Oh, dear!" puffed a certain little boy one bright Thanksgiving morning, as he jerked his chubby neck into the stiffest of white collars.
There had even been a Christmas tree, hung with stodgy German angels and Pfeffernuesse and pink-frosted cakes. I found myself the bewildered recipient of gifts from everyone from the Knapfs, and the aborigines and even from one of the crushed-looking wives.
To his delight he found a platter filled with just the daintiest little pink-frosted cakes you ever saw. "O-oo, thimble cakes!" he exclaimed. "You are just the fellows I want! I'll take you along to church with me." He cast one quick glance around, then grabbed a handful of the tiny cakes and crammed them into his trousers' pocket.
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