In the lovely town of Sweet Town, lived a kind baker named Penny. Everybody loved her and her charming little shop. Each day at twelve exactly, she would put her head out of the window and ring her bells to tell all the children they might come for their cakes. If they were quick, there was always plenty and plenty, and an odd one sometimes for themselves.
One day, when the children had come rushing and pushing, and rushing and pushing to get their cakes, Penny saw how good and happy they looked, with bright rosy cheeks and laughing merry eyes, so she said to herself: “To-morrow I will give them cakes again, but only if they are merry and happy.”
The next day, at twelve, she put her head out of the window, rang her bells, and the children came rushing again for their cakes. But, alas! it was a dull rainy day, and their cheeks were not rosy now, and their eyes were not merry—some of them were crying as if their hearts would break.
Then poor Penny the baker didn’t know what to do. She stood with her head out of the window looking and looking. Then she said, “Oh dear! What shall I do? I wonder if sweet puddings would make them smile and laugh?”
So Penny hurried into her kitchen and soon made a big sweet pudding from a nice new receipt. When it was done she pulled it out of the pot. It was stuck terribly in the pot—but she soon got it out, and then she smiled at it, and it smiled at her.
“You’re a nice clean pudding,” said she, pushing her hand all round the sides.
She put it carefully in a paper, and went to the end of the street.
“What shall I do with it now?” said she looking up the street and down the street.
Then she turned to the children, and said, “My dears, what do you think I have here?”
“Cakes,” cried all the little voices.
“No,” said she, “not cakes, but a nice clean big sweet pudding, hot and fresh from the pot!”
“A pudding, a pudding!” cried they, all of them at once, almost deafening her.
“Yes,” said she, “and each one of you shall have a piece.”
So she came into her shop, cut the pudding up into twelve long pieces, and gave a piece to each child with a cake.
“Now run away each of you,” said she. So they ran, and danced, and laughed, cast their eyes on the cake, and sometimes on the pudding.
Now Penny had finished her work, and her mind being free she sat down with her friends to one of her pretty little dinners, at five o’clock. But whilst she was at dinner who should come knocking and rapping and ringing at her outside door! The twelve happy merry children, dirty and wet, with their large pieces of pudding.
“Oh,” cried she looking at the twelve pieces of large pudding—“What am I to do with them?”
This dear tale of “The Sweet Pudding,” which gives us such a good lesson on happiness and sharing, could only have happened to that good little country woman, Madame de Segur.