Lucy was quite annoyed. Neither Dora nor Mother understood how choice that gingerbread was going to be. She at once told Dora that she was paring the apples too deep. “It isn’t good next to the skin,” said Dora, and she went on paring the apples in just the same way. “Don’t be cross, children,” said Mrs. Merrill. “You might help Dora with the apples, Lucy, if you think you can do them better. I want to get everything possible done before dinner because this afternoon I mean to take you over to the city to see about your winter coats.” “Both of us?” asked the children. “Yes,” said Mrs. Merrill. “Saturday afternoon isn’t a good time to go shopping, but now you are having music lessons in the morning, I can’t manage it then. And I don’t like to take you out of school to go.” “Are we both to have new coats?” asked Dora. She knew that Lucy was to have one, because she had outgrown her old one. It could not be buttoned without squeezing hard. Dora had expected to wear that coat herself, and she did not like its color. The color was brown. “Yes,” said Mrs. Merrill. “Lucy’s old coat will do for you to wear on stormy days, but it does not look very well. She has worn it three winters. We have decided to buy you a new one.” Dora was delighted. People in the little brown cottage thought twice before spending a dollar. Father had told the children that he was saving money so he could send them to school a long time, and was buying insurance. That meant if anything happened so Father could not work in the printing-press, there would still be money to take care of Mother and the little girls. Dora had not expected to have a new coat. “Will it be blue, Mother?” she asked after a time. Lucy was paring apples now, and Dora didn’t think it was quite fair for her to choose those with nice smooth skins and leave the specked ones for Dora to do. But she did not say anything. “Will what be blue, child?” asked Mother. “Look at your gingerbread, Lucy.” “My coat,” said Dora. Lucy dropped her knife and flew to the oven. How good that gingerbread did smell! It had turned into a desirable brown cake. “Is it done, Mother?” Lucy asked. “Try it and see,” said Mrs. Merrill. “We will look at the blue coats, Dora.” Lucy brought from the pantry one of the clean straws Mother kept to test cake. She stuck it into her gingerbread. When she drew it out the straw felt dry and smooth. “It is done,” she said. Mother took the pan out of the oven. She tipped out the gingerbread and put it on a rack and covered it with a cloth. “It looks very well,” she said. The fragrance of that gingerbread filled the whole house. It even penetrated to the parlor where Timothy was sleeping on the couch. He had no business there and he got up and came into the kitchen. It was not because his conscience pricked him, however, but because of the gingerbread.