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      THE STORY OF THE MINCE PIE

       Table of Contents

      “Sing a Song o’ sixpence a pocket full of rye,

       Four and twenty Dollies baked in a pie,

       When the pie was opened the Dolls began to sing,

       Wasn’t that an odd dish to set before the King?”

      You have heard of many kinds of pie, but did you ever hear of a Doll pie?

      No one ever did, I am sure, and no one knew the pie was full of dolls; everybody supposed it was just a plain mince pie; the kind that makes your eyes twinkle, and makes you smack your lips when you sniff it baking.

      I have always thought it was the kind Jack Horner had when he sat in the corner and pulled out a plum, but never did I dream that he might have pulled out a doll!

      I found it out in such an extremely funny and unexpected way that I must tell you all about it.

      It was Christmas Eve. Jack’s father was away but coming home on the morrow in time for all the Christmas doings.

      We had locked up the house and were just going upstairs to bed when Jack exclaimed:

      “Mother, you know the mince pie you baked to-day? We must take it up to bed with us!”

      “A pie, a mince pie to bed with us?” I cried in amazement, as I thought of the spicy delicious thing safely stowed away on the pantry shelf.

      “Yes, Mother, you know there is a mouse. It ate up my gingerbread doll; didn’t leave even a crumb. How would we feel if it ate up our mince pie!”

      That was true. There had been a mouse spying about of late, and so I said all right, we would.

      I carried it up very carefully, and we stood in the middle of the room looking about for a good place to put it.

      It was a bitter night. The maid had built a grand fire of logs, and they crackled and snapped a Christmas greeting as we stood seeking a resting place for the pie.

      “I see a fine spot!” cried Jack, as he ran to the big grandfather clock, and sure enough it was. A shelf just under the pendulum that seemed made on purpose for a pie. We placed it there and covered it carefully with a napkin.

      “The pie is going to bed, too,” I said, as I snuggled it up under its cover.

      Jack shouted over this, and we both had a merry time undressing before the jolly fire.

      We hung up our stockings and one for Father, then hopped into bed.

      Jack nestled up close and begged for a bedtime story, which I always told him. A drowsy tale which sent him to sleep, and me, too, before it was barely finished.

      I really didn’t know I was asleep, but suddenly a queer sound startled me, and as I listened I heard Jack smothering a giggle.

      “What is it, dear?” I whispered.

      “Oh, Mother, such a funny thing! I heard the clock chain rattle, and I looked and the mouse ran up the clock, and I heard voices singing: ‘Hickory Dickory Dock.’ Now look quick!”

      We both stared at the napkin over the pie, for it began to get humpy. You have played “tent” under the bedclothes, of course.

      Well, there seemed a dozen somethings playing that game, for the napkin humped up here and there till presently it was lifted off and fell to the floor.

      It was just like a matinée. The napkin seemed to be the curtain rolled away, then the show began.

      We heard queer voices singing, and then we saw such a sight! Out of that pie filed a lot of dolls, the strangest looking dolls any one ever saw.

      One seemed to be made of raisins; another of currants—the dried sugary kind. One had a round apple for a head, and such rosy cheeks it looked

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