FullReads

Every now and then he threw her a delicious cooky warm from the oven. She liked the queer fellow, and presently began to talk, being very curious about this country.

“What is your name, sir?”

“Ginger Snap.”

Lily thought it a good one; for he was very quick, and she fancied he could be short and sharp if he liked.

“Where does all this cake go to?” she asked, after watching the other kitchens full of workers, who were all of different kinds of cake, and each set of cooks made its own sort.

“I’ll show you by and by,” answered Snap, beginning to pile up the heaps of gingerbread on a little car that ran along a track leading to some unknown storeroom, Lily thought.

“Don’t you get tired of doing this all the time?”

“Yes; but I want to be promoted, and I never shall be till I’ve done my best, and won the prize here.”

“Oh, tell me about it! What is the prize, and how are you promoted? Is this a cooking-school?”

“Yes; the prize for best gingerbread is a cake of condensed yeast. That puts a soul into me, and I begin to rise till I am able to go over the hills yonder into the blessed land of bread, and be one of the happy creatures who are always wholesome, always needed, and without which the world below would be in a bad way.”

“Bless me! that is the queerest thing I’ve heard yet. But I don’t wonder you want to go; I’m tired of sweets myself, and long for a good piece of bread, though I used to want cake and candy at home.”

“Ah, my dear, you’ll learn a good deal here; and you are lucky not to have got into the clutches of Giant Dyspepsia, who always gets people if they eat too much of such rubbish and scorn wholesome bread. I leave my ginger behind when I go, and get white and round and beautiful, as you will see. The Gingerbread family have never been as foolish as some of the other cakes. Wedding is the worst; such extravagance in the way of wine and spice and fruit I never saw, and such a mess to eat when it’s done! I don’t wonder people get sick; serves ’em right.” And Snap flung down a pan with such a bang that it made Lily jump.

“Sponge cake isn’t bad, is it? Mamma lets me eat it, but I like frosted pound better,” she said, looking over to the next kitchen, where piles of that sort of cake were being iced.

“Poor stuff. No substance. Ladies’ fingers will do for babies, but pound has too much butter ever to be healthy. Let it alone, and eat cookies or seed-cakes, my dear. Now, come along; I’m ready.” And Snap trundled away his car-load at a great pace.

Lily ran behind to pick up whatever fell, and looked about her as she went, for this was certainly a very queer country. Lakes of eggs all beaten up, and hot springs of saleratus foamed here and there ready for use. The earth was brown sugar or ground spice; and the only fruits were raisins, dried currants, citron, and lemon peel. It was a very busy place; for every one cooked all the time, and never failed and never seemed tired, though they got so hot that they only wore sheets of paper for clothes. There were piles of it to put over the cake, so that it shouldn’t burn; and they made cook’s white caps and aprons of it, and looked very nice. A large clock made of a flat pancake, with cloves to mark the hours and two toothpicks for hands, showed them how long to bake things; and in one place an ice wall was built round a lake of butter, which they cut in lumps as they wanted it.

“Here we are. Now, stand away while I pitch ’em down,” said Snap, stopping at last before a hole in the ground where a dumbwaiter hung ready, with a name over it.