"Whew-w, that's a beauty!" cried Doctor Churchill. "Did you make it,
Fieldsy?"
"Indeed I didn't," denied Mrs. Fields, with great satisfaction. "Miss
Charlotte made it herself, and I didn't know but she'd go crazy over it,
first for fear it wouldn't turn out right, and then for joy because it
had."
The doctor handed it about with a face so beaming that Doctor Forester
leaned back in his chair and regarded his young colleague quizzically.
"You make this cake, Churchill?" he asked.
The doctor laughed. "It was joy enough to bring it in," he said.
"Who did make it?" demanded Forester. "It was no caterer, I know."
Charlotte attempted to escape quietly from the room, but Lanse barred
the way. "Here she is," he said, and turned his sister about and made
her face the company. A friendly round of applause greeted her, mingled
with exclamations of surprise. They all knew Charlotte, or thought they
did. To most of them this was a new and unlooked-for accomplishment.
"It's not half so good as the sort Celia makes," murmured Charlotte, and
would hear no more of the cake.
Pages:
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86