"Freddie has fallen into the flour barrel!" he cried, and lost no time
in catching his brother by the feet and pulling him out. It was hard
work and in the midst of it the flour barrel fell over on its side,
scattering the flour over the pantry and partly on the kitchen floor.

"Oh! oh! oh!" roared Freddie as soon as he could catch his breath. "Oh,
my! oh, my!"

"Oh, Freddie, why did you go into the barrel?" exclaimed Nan, wiping off
her hands and running to him. "Did you ever see such a sight before?"

Freddie was digging at the flour in his eyes. He was white from head to
feet, and coughing and spluttering.

"Wait, I'll get the whisk-broom," said Bert, and ran for it.

"Brush off his hair first, and then I'll wipe his face," came from Nan.

"Here's the wash-rag," put in little Flossie, and catching it up,
wringing wet, she began to wipe off Freddie's face before anybody could
stop her.

"Flossie! Flossie! You mustn't do that!" said Bert. "Don't you see you
are making paste of the flour?"

The wet flour speedily became a dough on Freddie's face and neck, and he
yelled louder than ever. The wash-rag was put away, and regardless of
her own clean clothes, Flossie started in to scrape the dough off, until
both Nan and Bert made her stop.

"I'll dust him good first," said Bert, and began such a vigorous use of
the whisk-broom that everybody began to sneeze.

"Oh, Bert, not so hard!" said Nan, and ran to open the back door. "Bring
him here."

Poor Freddie had a lump of dough in his left ear and was trying in vain
to get it out with one hand while rubbing his eyes with the other. Nan
brushed his face with care, and even wiped off the end of his tongue,
and got the lump out of his ear. In the meantime Flossie started to set
the flour barrel up once more.

"Don't touch the barrel, Flossie!" called Bert. "You keep away, or
you'll be as dirty as Freddie."

It was very hard work to get Freddie's clothes even half clean, and some
of the flour refused to budge from his hair. By the time he was made
half presentable once more the kitchen was in a mess from end to end.

"What were you doing near the flour barrel?" asked Nan.

"Going to get flour for the cake."

"But we don't want that kind of flour, Freddie. We want this," and she
brought forth the package.

"Dinah uses this," answered the little boy.

"Yes, for bread. But we are not going to make bread. You had better sit
down and watch Bert and me work, and you