Margaret dragged a chair to the spot, jumped upon it and handed up the half-glass of lemonade to her sister. Frances, however, did not take the glass in her hand; she took the straws, and leaning forward, tried to drink the lemonade. But though Margaret stood on tip-toe and reached up as far as she could, Frances was still about four inches too high, so she waited a minute until she had come down a little further when she tried again. This time she succeeded, finding, as she had expected, that at every swallow she came down more and more quickly, until presently her feet touched the floor again, when, as she was still rather bouncy, she took hold of the edge of the table to steady herself, and said: "I'll tell you what you'd better do, Margaret: Take only one of those bubbles at a time and see if it isn't enough. I'm a good deal too light; I shall have to put some stones in my pocket, or something. I'm afraid, if I were to go out of doors, the wind might blow me into the sea. So just take one first, Margaret, and see how that does." This seemed like good advice, so Margaret, taking the tweezers, caught one bubble and ate it up. "M-m-m," she murmured, just as Frances had done. "That is good. There's preserved ginger in it, too, and I think there's just a taste of baked apples. Oh! Isn't it a funny feeling!"--stretching out her arms and dancing about--"I wonder if I could jump up to the ceiling like you did." But she found she could not; though to jump over a big settee in the middle of the room was the easiest thing possible. "Oh, how nice it is to be so light-footed!" she cried. "One bubble is just enough, Frances; that was a good idea of yours. But what are we going to do to make you a bit heavier? There are no stones here to put into your pockets; and you have only one pocket, anyhow. You'd be all lopsided. You'll have to eat something. That's the only way I see." "Yes," responded Frances, "that's the only way; and what we need is something heavy, like that little loaf of bread you and I made once for Daddy, don't you remember, and he begged to be excused, because home-made bread sometimes gave him the nightmare, and so we gave it to Kim--that time he howled so in the night, and Daddy had to get up and throw his hair-brush at him." "Yes, I remember," replied her sister. "That's the sort of thing we want. Let's look at the list here and see if there's anything likely to do. Ah! 'Pound cake'! That ought to be just the thing." "Pound cake is rather rich, isn't it?" asked Frances. "I'm afraid it is. Well, here's 'Half-pound cake, for infants and invalids.' The very thing. We'll have that." She touched the button; open flew the cupboard, and there inside it was a neat little cake with a silver knife to cut it. "Now," said Margaret, cutting a slice and handing it to her sister. "Eat that and see if it will do."