A cake at the right time and the right place.

.

." "But the river is falling!" Frona cried.
The ice had dropped six feet below the top of the bank, and the Baron Courbertin marked it with a stick.
"Our man's still there, but he doesn't move." It was clear day, and the sun was breaking forth in the north-east.
They took turn about with the glasses in gazing across the river.
"Look! Is it not marvellous ?" Courbertin pointed to the mark he had made.

The water had dropped another foot.

"Ah! Too bad! too bad! The jam; there will be none!" Jacob Welse regarded him gravely.
"Ah! There will be ?" he asked, picking up hope.
Frona looked inquiringly at her father.
"Jams are not always nice," he said, with a short laugh.