"I'll creep nearer and see what sort of people they are before I show myself," said Lily, going into a grove of spice-trees, and sitting down on a stone which proved to be the plummy sort of cake we used to call Brighton Rock. Presently one of the tallest men came striding toward the trees with a pan, evidently after spice; and before she could run, he saw Lily. "Hollo, what do you want?" he asked, staring at her with his black currant eyes, while he briskly picked the bark off a cinnamon-tree. "I'm travelling, and would like to know what place this is, if you please," answered Lily, very politely, being a little frightened. "Cake-land. Where do you come from?" asked the gingerbread man, in a crisp tone of voice. "I was blown into the Candy country, and have been there a long time; but I got tired of it, and ran away to find something better." "Sensible child!" and the man smiled till Lily thought his cheeks would crumble. "You'll get on better here with us Brownies than with the lazy Bonbons, who never work and are all for show. They won't own us, though we are all related through our grandparents Sugar and Molasses. We are busy folks; so they turn up their noses and don't speak when we meet at parties. Poor creatures, silly and sweet and unsubstantial! I pity 'em." "Could I make you a visit? I'd like to see how you live, and what you do. I'm sure it must be interesting," said Lily, picking herself up after a tumble, having eaten nearly all the stone, she was so hungry. "I know you will. Come on! I can talk while I work." And the funny gingerbread man trotted off toward his kitchen, full of pans, rolling-pins, and molasses jugs. "Sit down. I shall be at leisure as soon as this batch is baked. There are still some wise people down below who like gingerbread, and I have my hands full," he said, dashing about, stirring, rolling out, and slapping the brown dough into pans, which he whisked into the oven and out again so fast that Lily knew there must be magic about it somewhere. Every now and then he threw her a delicious cooky warm from the oven. She liked the queer fellow, and presently began to talk, being very curious about this country. "What is your name, sir?" "Ginger Snap." Lily thought it a good one; for he was very quick, and she fancied he could be short and sharp if he liked. "Where does all this cake go to?" she asked, after watching the other kitchens full of workers, who were all of different kinds of cake, and each set of cooks made its own sort. "I'll show you by and by," answered Snap, beginning to pile up the heaps of gingerbread on a little car that ran along a track leading to some unknown storeroom, Lily thought. "Don't you get tired of doing this all the time?" "Yes; but I want to be promoted, and I never shall be till I've done my best, and won the prize here." "Oh, tell me about it! What is the prize, and how are you promoted? Is this a cooking-school?"