As for Olly, he was very much taken up for a time with the red and black table-cloth, and could not be kept from peering underneath it from time to time, as if he suspected that the white table-cloth he was generally accustomed to had been hidden away underneath for a joke. But when the time for cake came, Olly forgot the table-cloth altogether. He had never seen a cake quite like the bun-loaf, which kind Mrs. Backhouse had made herself for the occasion, and of which she had given him a hunch, so in his usual inquisitive way he began to turn it over and over, as if by looking at it long enough he could find out how it was made and all about it. Presently, when the others were all quietly enjoying their bun-loaf, Olly's shrill little voice was heard saying--while he put two separate fingers on two out of the few currants in his piece: "_This_ currant says to _that_ currant, 'I'm here, where are you? You're so far off I can't see you nowhere.'" "Olly, be quiet," said Milly. "Well, but, Milly, I can't help it; it's so funny. There's only three currants in my bit, and cookie puts such a lot in at home. I'm pretending they're little children wanting to play, only they can't, they're so far off. There, I've etten one up. Now there's only two. That's you and me, Milly. I'll eat you up first--krick!" "Never mind about the currants, little master," said Mrs. Backhouse, laughing at him. "It's nice and sweet any way, and you can eat as much of it as you like, which is more than you can of rich cakes." Olly thought there was something in this, and by the time he had got through his second bit of bun-loaf he had quite made up his mind that he would get Susan to make bun-loaves at home too. They were just finishing tea when there was a great clatter outside, and by came the hay-cart with John Backhouse leading the horse, and two men walking beside it. "We're going to carry all the hay in yon lower field presently," he shouted to his wife as he passed. "Send the young 'uns down to see."