"D---- the boy! what has
Billy Higgs to do with me?"
"Poured a teacupful o' water down the nape o' my breeches when I'd
got ha'f-way up the hill an' cudn' set the barrow down to fight
'un--the coward! Boo-hoo!" and tears flowed again at the
recollection.
"What is it?"
"Cake, sir."
"Cake!"
"Iss, sir--cake."
The youth stifled a sob, and removed the white cover from the
wheelbarrow.
"Bless my soul!" gasped the Admiral, "there must be some mistake."
"It certainly seems to be cake," observed the Honourable Frederic,
examining the load through his eye-glass; "and very good cake, too,
by the smell."
[Illustration: "It certainly seems to be cake," observed the
Honourable Frederic.]
He was right. High on the barrow, and symmetrically piled, rested
five-and-twenty huge cakes--yellow cakes such as all Trojans love--
each large as a mill-stone, tinctured with saffron, plentifully
stowed with currants, and crisp with brown crust, steaming to heaven,
and wooing the nostrils of the gods.
"Bless my soul!" repeated the Admiral, "but I never ordered this."
Each member of the group in turn advanced, inspected the cake,
sniffed the savour, pronounced it excellent, and looked from the
Admiral to the boy for explanation.
"Mrs. Dymond down to the 'Man-'o-War' sent et, sir, wi' her
compliments to Maaster Sam, an' hopin' as he'll find et plum i' the
bakin' as it leaves her at present, an' the currants all a-picked
careful, knowin' as he'd a sweet tooth.
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