s 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 best receipt, baked in a well regulated oven, and gratefully
eaten with a temperate appetite."

"Good! good!" cried Tom, applauding with the wooden spoon. "That 's a
model sermon, Polly, short, sweet, sensible, and not a bit sleepy. I 'm
one of your parish, and will see that you get your 'celery punctooal,'
as old Deacon Morse used to say."

"'Thank you, brother, my wants is few, and ravens scurser than they used
to be,' as dear old Parson Miller used to answer. Now, Maud, bring on
the citron;" and Polly began to put the cake together in what seemed
a most careless and chaotic manner, while Tom and Maud watched with
absorbing interest till it was safely in the oven.

"Now make your custards, dear; Tom may like to beat the eggs for you; it
seems to have a good effect upon his constitution."

"First-rate; hand 'em along," and Tom smoothed his apron with a cheerful
air. "By the way, Syd's got back. I met him yesterday, and he treated me
like a man and a brother," he added, as if anxious to contribute to the
pleasures of the hour.

"I 'm so glad!" cried Polly, clapping her hands, regardless of the egg
she held, which dropped and smashed on the floor at her feet. "Careless
thing! Pick it up, Maud, I 'll get some more;" and Polly whisked out of
the room, glad of an excuse to run and tell Fan, who had just come
in, lest, hearing the news in public, she might be startled out of the
well-bred composure with which young ladies are expected to receive
tidings, even of the most vital importance.

"You know all about history, don't you?" asked Maud, suddenly.

"Not quite," modestly answered Tom.

"I just want to know if there really was a man named Sir Philip, in the
time of Queen Elizabeth."

"You mean Sir Philip Sidney? Yes, he lived then and a fine old fellow he
was too."

"There; I knew the girls did n't mean him," cried Maud, with a chop that
sent the citron flying.

"What mischief are you up to now, you little magpie?"

"I shan't tell you what they said, because I don't remember much of it;
but I heard Polly and Fan talking about some one dreadful mysterious,
and when I