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/tab\"I won't have none of your weevily wheat,
/tab\/tab\and I won't have none of your barley,
/tab\But I'll take a measure of fine white flour,
/tab\/tab\to make a cake for Charley."
We were singing rhymes to tease Antonia
while she was beating up one of Charley's
favorite cakes in her big mixing-bowl. It was
a crisp autumn evening, just cold enough to
make one glad to quit playing tag in the yard,
and retreat into the kitchen. We had begun
to roll popcorn balls with syrup when we
heard a knock at the back door, and Tony
dropped her spoon and went to open it. A
plump, fair-skinned girl was standing in the
doorway. She looked demure and pretty, and
made a graceful picture in her blue cashmere
dress and little blue hat, with a plaid shawl
drawn neatly about her shoulders and a
clumsy pocketbook in her hand.
"Hello, Tony. Don't you know me?" she
asked in a smooth, low voice, looking in at
us archly.
Antonia gasped and stepped back. "Why,
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