"I hope the plums won't all be at the bottom," said Polly, as she
rose to do the honors of the cake, by universal appointment.
"I 've had a good many at the top already, you know," answered
Tom, watching the operation with as much interest as if he had
faith in the omen.
Cutting carefully, slice after slice fell apart; each firm and dark,
spicy and rich, under the frosty rime above; and laying a specially
large piece in one of grandma's quaint little china plates, Polly
added the flowers and handed it to Tom, with a look that said a
good deal, for, seeing that he remembered her sermon, she was
glad to find that her allegory held good, in one sense at least.
Tom's face brightened as he took it, and after an inspection which
amused the others very much he looked up, saying, with an air of
relief, "Plums all through; I 'm glad I had a hand in it, but Polly
deserves the credit, and must wear the posy," and turning to her, he
put the rose into her hair with more gallantry than taste, for a thorn
pricked her head, the leaves tickled her ear, and the flower was
upside down.
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