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"You didn't see me," laughed the little man, "but I know how to make toast."

"Of course!" said the little girl, "you're—why, you're the Toaster!"

"Yes, ma'am," said the little man, with a bow, "at your service, Miss Mary Frances."

"Try me, and see what I can do," went on Toaster Man. "Just put a slice of that bread into my head, and hold me over the fire."

Mary Frances leaned over and gravely put a slice of bread in Toaster. He looked so funny standing there that she wanted to smile, but thought it wouldn't be exactly polite to so helpful a friend. But when he said, "Slide up my collar," in a thick, smothery sort of voice, she laughed aloud before she could stop, but turned the sound into a cough so quickly that Toaster Man looked up at her queerly only a moment; and she pulled the ring up until it held the bread tightly in place.

"Now, lift me up over the fire!" he demanded.

Mary Frances hesitated—she couldn't tell where to take hold of him.

"Never mind my legs," he said, as though he read her thoughts, "I'll see to them," and he folded them up so close that when Mary Frances lifted him up, she could find no sign of them.

"Oh, you'll be burnt!" she cried, as she held what Toaster Man had called his head over the bright fire.

"Not I," he laughed, "not I. I like it. It's the toast that'll be burnt, if I'm not turned over soon."

Mary Frances took the hint, and turned Toaster carefully over.

"Not too close to the coals at first, Little Miss," said the little fellow. "Now,—closer! That's it!"

"How is it?" he asked, as Mary Frances took him from the fire.

"What a beautiful piece of toast!" she cried.

"Grand-if-i-cent!" exclaimed Toaster. "Now, you do the next piece without my saying a word—but first spread that with butter, and put it in the oven. Now, you read in your book, and see if that's not the way to make Buttered Toast."

Mary Frances opened her book.

"Read it out!" said the little man.

"When I speak that way, Mother tells me to say 'Please,'" said she.

"Beg pardon," said the little man, "Please."

So Mary Frances read:

"That's it! that's what I told you," cried the little fellow. "I'm always right about toast. Can you make the next slice without a word more?"

"I think so," said Mary Frances; and she didn't utter a sound until she had taken the second piece out of Toaster.

"What a beautiful piece of toast!" exclaimed Toaster. "It's better than the first."

"Oh, I don't think——" Mary Frances started.

"I know!" snapped the little man. "Don't contradict me about toast! By the way," he asked, "why don't you make it into Milk Toast for your mother? it would be softer, and more palat—palat—"

"Pal-a-table," said Mary Frances.

"Yes," said he, "you know a good deal for a little girl,"—and he began to choke. Mary Frances patted him hard.

"A piece of toast?" she asked.

"No," he exclaimed in-dig-nant-ly, "a long word always makes me choke. That's why I seldom use them. Now, please read about Milk Toast."

"If you know——" sug-gest-ed Mary Frances.

"Well, it's more like real grown-up people to have it out of a book," said the little man. "Go on!"

And Mary Frances read from her little Cook Book.

"That's right!" said Toaster Man. "That's the way my grandmother made it. If I were you, I'd make only half of that sauce for only two slices of toast. You did so well with the Plain Toast; you go right ahead with the Milk Toast, and see if you can make it all yourself, and if you need any help, I'll be on the spot in a twinkle. Follow carefully what your little Cook Book says. You know you must measure everything even with the top of the spoon, or cup."

So Mary Frances did exactly what the recipe told her.

As she poured the last of the sauce over the toast, which she had put in a pretty dish, the little man, who had been running here and there, watching everything she did, shouted, "Hurrah!" At least, he tried to shout, but his voice would scarcely reach to a grown-up person's ear. "You are the