"You're flirting that yellow stuff all over!" "Well, anyway, it's well beaten," declared Kitty, looking at the frothy yellow mass with satisfaction.

"Now we put in the flour,--no, the sugar, I think." "Butter ?" suggested Marjorie.
"No, there's no butter in it.

This is _sponge_ cake." Properly subdued, Marjorie awaited orders.
"Sugar," Kitty decided at last; "and bring a cup." Midget brought the cup, and Kitty measured the sugar, and dumped it into the bowl of egg.
"I can't think whether it's three or four cups full," she said, holding a cup full uncertainly over the bowl.
"Dump it in!" advised King.

"I like 'em pretty sweet." So in went the sugar, and Midget was allowed to stir, while Kitty measured flour.
"We have to sift this four times," she announced, with an air of great wisdom.

"I'll do this part." She did, but she was so energetic about it, and the flour sieve so uncertain on its three iron legs, that much of the flour flew over the table, the floor, and the clothing of the workers.
"Hold up, Kit!" cried Marjorie, as a cloud of flour almost blinded her.
"I can't see to beat, if you fly that flour around so!" "Well, it has to be sifted four times," apologized Kitty, and turned it into the sieve again.
Much was lost in transit, and King declared it was already sifted as fine as it would ever be, but Kitty was unmoved by comment or criticism.
"Now it's all right," she said, peering into the pan of finally prepared flour, and ignoring the white dust that was all over everything.