"]
* * * * *
A SURPRISE PARTY.
"Five-and-thirty wounded Tommies coming to tea and one of them coming
to his death, but he doesn't know it," moaned Emily, and waved a knife
round her head.
I saw what had happened. All this bun-baking and cake-making had been
too much for my poor wife. She had been living in the oven for a week.
"You're overdone. Lie down and try to get a little nap before they
come," I said soothingly. "Everything's ready."
"Will he die without a sound, or will he gurgle?" said Emily, and
brought the knife within an inch of my nose.
"No one is going to die at our tea-party, dear," I said, and ducked.
"Not after swallowing _that_?" shrieked Emily, and lunged at me with
the knife again.
I got it firmly by the handle this time, and I recognised Emily's
special cake-knife, an instrument wrought to perfection by long years
of service, sharp as a razor down both sides, with a flexible tip
that slithered round a basin and scooped up the last morsels of
candied-peel.
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