Mother and Aunt Polly rubbed him dry and had him in dry stockings and
sandals in a hurry, and then Aunt Polly and Dot decided to walk uptown
and match some wool for the sweater auntie was finishing. Twaddles
wanted to go, but Mother Blossom decided he had done enough for that
day and had better stay at home with her.

"What are you doing, Mother?" asked Twaddles, watching her curiously,
after his sister and aunt had gone down the walk. "Could I do that?"

"Now, Twaddles, you've seen me fill my fountain pen hundreds of times,"
answered Mother Blossom patiently. "You always ask me that, and you
know I can't have you spilling ink all over my desk. Run away and find
something pleasant to do till I finish this letter, and then we'll
toast marshmallows over the fire."

Twaddles set out to amuse himself. He wished he had Philip to play
with, but the dog was out in the garage and Twaddles had been forbidden
to make the journey through the snow in his sandals. To be sure there
was Annabel Lee, but the cat was in a sleepy mood and refused to wake
up sufficiently to be amusing.

"Oh, dear," sighed Twaddles. "There's nothing to do. I wonder where
Norah is?"

He scuttled down to the kitchen, which was in beautiful order, but no
Norah was in sight She was up in her room changing her dress, but
Twaddles did not know that.

"I'm hungry!" he decided, opening the pantry door. "Skating always
gives you such an appetite."

He had heard some one say this.

As in most pantries, the favorite place for the Blossom cake box was on
the highest shelf. Why this was so, puzzled Twaddles, as it has
puzzled many other small boys and girls.

"I should think Norah might leave it down low," he grumbled, dragging a
chair into the pantry with some difficulty and proceeding to climb into
it.

By stretching, he managed to get his fingers on the cake box lid and
pull it down. He opened it.

The box was perfectly empty.

"Why, the idea!" sputtered the outraged Twaddles, who felt distinctly
cheated. "I wonder if Mother knows we haven't any cake. I'd better go
and tell her."

But he didn't--not right away. For there were other boxes on the
various shelves, and Twaddles felt it was his duty to peep into these
to see what he could find. He was disappointed in most of them because
they held such uninteresting things as rice and barley and coffee,
nothing that a starving person could eat with any pleasure.

Then at last he thought