Vivian stretched out his hand; he took the slice; he lifted it up, and then the cake saw his red mouth open—­yes, open wider than it could have believed possible—­wide enough to show two dreadful rows of little sharp white things.

“Good gra—­” it began.

But it never said “cious.”  Never at all.  For in two minutes Vivian had eaten it!!

And there was an end of its airs and graces.

BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK

It began with Aunt Hetty’s being out of temper, which, it must be confessed, was nothing new.  At its best, Aunt Hetty’s temper was none of the most charming, and this morning it was at its worst.  She had awakened to the consciousness of having a hard day’s work before her, and she had awakened late, and so everything had gone wrong from the first.  There was a sharp ring in her voice when she came to Jem’s bedroom door and called out, “Jemima, get up this minute!”

Jem knew what to expect when Aunt Hetty began a day by calling her “Jemima.”  It was one of the poor child’s grievances that she had been given such an ugly name.  In all the books she had read, and she had read a great many, Jem never had met a heroine who was called Jemima.  But it had been her mother’s favorite sister’s name, and so it had fallen to her lot.  Her mother always called her “Jem,” or “Mimi,” which was much prettier, and even Aunt Hetty only reserved Jemima for unpleasant state occasions.

It was a dreadful day to Jem.  Her mother was not at home, and would not be until night.  She had been called away unexpectedly, and had been obliged to leave Jem and the baby to Aunt Hetty’s mercies.

So Jem found herself busy enough.  Scarcely had she finished doing one thing, when Aunt Hetty told her to begin another.  She wiped dishes and picked fruit and attended to the baby; and when baby had gone to sleep, and everything else seemed disposed of, for a time, at least, she was so tired that she was glad to sit down.

And then she thought of the book she had been reading the night before—­a certain delightful story book, about a little girl whose name was Flora, and who was so happy and rich and pretty and good that Jem had likened her to the little princesses one reads about, to whose christening feast every fairy brings a gift.

“I shall have time to finish my chapter before dinner-time comes,” said Jem, and she sat down snugly in one corner of the wide, old fashioned fireplace.

But she had not read more than two pages before something dreadful happened.  Aunt Hetty came into the room in a great hurry—­in such a hurry, indeed, that she caught her foot in the matting and fell, striking her elbow sharply against a chair, which so upset her temper that the moment she found herself on her feet she flew at Jem.

“What!” she said, snatching the book from her, “reading again, when I am running all over the house for you?” And she flung the pretty little blue covered volume into the fire.