One bright summer afternoon, when light shimmered on the lake and the sky was so blue Lissa was sure someone had just painted it, Lissa, Mommy Ruth, and Mama Sue went out for tea. To keep the sun off, Mama Sue wore her hat with the flowers on it, and Mommy Ruth wore her sailor hat, and Lissa wore her cowgirl hat. She took her cowgirl rope with her, too, because you never know when a rope might come in handy.
They sat at a green wooden table on green wooden chairs on a wide grassy lawn. Mama Sue poured their tea out of a green china pot, and Mommy Ruth passed the milk in its little white pitcher.
Lissa had lots of milk in her tea, and lots of sugar, too.
"I'm hungry!" said Mama Sue. "What is there to eat?"
"Muffins," said the waitress, who was wearing a green shirt and a tan skirt. "Watercress sandwiches. Seed cake. And—popovers."
"Popovers!" said Mama Sue. "I haven't had popovers for years!"
"Popovers!" said Mommy Ruth. "Popovers are my best favorite thing to have for tea."
"Popovers!" said Lissa. "What are popovers?" She giggled. "Do cowgirls eat popovers?"
Mama Sue smiled. "I bet they would if they could," she said.
Mommy Ruth smiled. "Popovers are won-der-ful!"
The waitress smiled, too. "Yes, they are," she said. "And our chef makes the best ones in the whole wide world." She bent closer to Lissa. "We had a cowboy and a cowgirl here last week," she said. "And they both had lots of popovers."
"We'll have ourselves some popovers," said Mommy Ruth. "Won't we, Sue?"
"You bet," said Mama Sue. "With plenty of butter, and plenty of jam. I do hope you have strawberry jam," she said to the waitress.
"Oh, yes," the waitress answered. "We most certainly do."
"That's fine, then," said Mommy Ruth. "Strawberry jam is perfect. Popovers, please, for all of us."
While they waited for their popovers, Lissa and Mommy Ruth and Mama Sue drank more tea. They watched some ducks playing tag on the lake, and they watched a tiny white cloud float across the sky.
"I think it looks like a cowgirl hat," said Lissa.
"I think it looks like a mushroom," said Mama Sue.
"I think it looks like a popover," said Mommy Ruth—and then their popovers came.
The waitress brought them in a tan basket with a green napkin over them. They were golden brown, and hot steam came out of them. They did look a little like cowgirl hats, or like mushrooms.
The waitress brought plenty of butter, too, in three shallow white dishes. And she brought a shiny metal pot of strawberry jam.
"They look perfect," said Mama Sue. "You take the big one, Lissa, since it's your very first popover ever."
>"Now," Mommy Ruth told Lissa, "break your popover open, like this."
Lissa broke her popover open. "Oh!" she said. "It's got caves inside! And nooks and crannies!"
"That's right," said Mommy Ruth. "That's where you put the butter."
"And the strawberry jam," said Mama Sue.
"I see," said Lissa. She put plenty of butter inside her popover's caves and nooks and crannies, and plenty of strawberry jam, too, and then she took a big bite . . .
"Yum!" said Lissa when her mouth was free again and when she had wiped the melted-butter-and-strawberry-jam dribble off her chin. "Yummy, yum, yum!" She could see why the cowboy and the cowgirl had liked the popovers.
"You know," said Mommy Ruth thoughtfully, "I bet we could make popovers at home."
"We could," said Mama Sue. "But I bet they wouldn't be as good as these."
"We could try," said Lissa. "Couldn't we?"
"Sure we could," said Mommy Ruth. "Do we have a recipe?"
"I don't think so," said Mama Sue. "But we could ask the chef."
So after they'd finished their tea, Lissa and Mommy Ruth and Mama Sue went into the kitchen. The chef was a round jolly man in a white apron and a tall white hat. He was stirring popover batter in a huge bowl with an enormous spoon.
"It's simple," he said. "All you need is flour and butter and eggs and milk and salt." He put down his spoon and wrote the recipe on a piece of paper.
"Thank you," said Mama Sue and Mommy Ruth and Lissa.
"Remember to eat them while they're hot," the chef called after them. "Popovers are no good when they're cold."
"We'll remember," Lissa called back.
On the way home, Mama Sue studied the recipe. "We have flour and butter and eggs and milk and salt," she said. "But I think he left something out."
"What?" asked Mommy Ruth, who was driving. "What did he leave out?"
"Baking powder," said Mama Sue. "How else would the popovers get so big and have all those wonderful caves and nooks and crannies inside?"
"Hmm," said Mommy Ruth. "Maybe you're right. Baking powder does make things fluffy and light."
"He didn't say baking powder," Lissa said. "He didn't write baking powder down. He just wrote down flour and butter and eggs and milk and salt."
"I think he forgot the baking powder," said Mama Sue.
"So do I," said Mommy Ruth. "He must have. We'd better get some."
So on the way home, Lissa and Mommy Ruth and Mama Sue bought some baking powder. And when they got home, they took out their big bowl and their eggbeater and measuring cups and measuring spoons and mixing spoons and a muffin tin. They put on their aprons and turned on the oven. That made the kitchen hot, so Mama Sue opened the kitchen window wide. It was very hot outside, too. The flowers looked tired.
Lissa broke the eggs.
Mama Sue measured the flour and the salt, and she added a big spoonful of baking powder to make sure the popovers would be light and fluffy and have lots of caves and nooks and crannies inside. Mommy Ruth poured the milk and measured the butter. They all took turns mixing. Finally they poured the batter into the muffin tin, and Mommy Ruth slid the muffin tin into the oven.
And then they set the timer and waited. Lissa practiced her cowgirl rope tricks.
Pretty soon they could smell the cooking popovers.
"Mmm!" said Mommy Ruth. "I think I'm hungry all over again."
In a little while there was a funny noise in the kitchen. A sort of poofing and whooshing and whishing noise.
"Maybe we have a mouse," said Mama Sue.
"I'll go see," said Lissa.
She went into the kitchen. "Oh, no!" she shouted. "Mommy Ruth! Mama Sue! Come quick! Our popovers are trying to escape!"
The oven door was wide open. And the popovers had exploded into one giant popover with a fat, fluffy leg where each muffin cup had been. Like a giant mushroom with twelve stems, the enormous popover pushed out of the oven . . .
. . . floated across the whole kitchen . . .
. . . glided smoothly out the window . . .
. . . and hovered over the shimmering backyard like a giant balloon!
All the neighborhood dogs barked.
All the neighborhood cats jumped up and tried to bat at the giant popover with their paws.
All the neighborhood birds flew back and forth above the popover, chirping anxiously.
All the neighborhood children stood in a big circle around it and cheered.
All the neighborhood grownups stood around and discussed How It Must Have Happened . . .
("That's easy," Lissa told Sally, her best friend. "It was the baking powder.")
. . . and How To Get It Down.
One grownup got a ladder, put it against a nearby tree, and climbed up it carrying a canoe paddle. With the paddle he tried to push the popover down.
But it just floated a little to one side.
So another grownup got an extra big fireplace bellows and climbed another tree. She tried to blow the popover toward the first grownup. But it moved only a little and then stopped.
Then a third grownup got an even bigger fireplace bellows and climbed the tree, too. The two grownups in the tree puffed and puffed with their two bellows . . .
And the popover moved a little more . . .
But the popover just floated to the middle, where none of the grownups could reach it.
Timmy, who lived next door, got his slingshot and tried to shoot it down.
But the stone he shot at it just bounced off. The popover went higher and bobbed gently back and forth.
Meanwhile, the beautiful bright blue sky had begun to turn dark. There was a big black cloud instead of the little white one, and it was getting bigger. The backyard wasn't shimmering any more. There were shadows around the flowers and under the enormous escaping popover.
"It's going to rain," Sally said.
"The popover will get all wet and yucky," said Timmy.
"And then it'll fall down, and there'll be wet popover dough all over everything," said Lissa. "Oh, no!"
"Eeeeew!" said Sally.
"Gross," said Timmy.
"It'll smother the flowers," said Mommy Ruth.
"It'll leave strings of dough in the trees," said Mama Sue.
The grownups stood around and discussed What To Do.
Lissa thought while everyone else talked. "I don't think it'll get wet and yucky," she said after a while. "The chef said to remember that popovers get harder as they cool. And Timmy's stone just bounced off. Maybe I could rope it the way cowgirls rope cows. And pull it down."
All the grownups looked at her.
All the children looked at her.
All the cats and dogs looked at her.
The birds looked at the darkening sky and chirped anxiously again.
"Hah!" said Timmy. "Bet you can't! Bet your rope's not long enough."
"I can make my rope longer," Lissa said.
"See?" said Sally. "Bet she can."
Lissa ran inside and got lots more rope. She tied it to the end of her cowgirl rope, and then it was much longer.
The grownup who'd climbed the ladder picked up his paddle. "If I try to push the popover one way . . ."
"And if we try to push it the other way . . ." said one of the grownups who'd blown at it with a bellows.
"Maybe we can hold the popover still," said the other grownup. "And then maybe Lissa can rope it!"
So the grownups went up again, one on the ladder and two in the tree. They pushed and paddled and blew, and Lissa began twirling her rope. She twirled and twirled, faster and faster and faster and faster . . .
Then, when the popover stopped bobbing back and forth, Lissa let go of the noose end of the rope.
Up, up, up it flew into the dark sky.
Up, up, up it sailed—higher than the enormous escaping popover . . .
"Oh," everyone gasped. "Oh, no!"
But then the rope settled slowly, slowly . . .
. . . over the popover in exactly the right way.
Thunder rumbled.
A drop of rain fell.
And another . . .
"Quick!" shouted Timmy.
"Quick, quick!" shouted Sally and Mommy Ruth and Mama Sue and all the grownups.
The dogs, who were watching, all barked. (The cats were washing their faces and pretending not to notice.) The birds chirped louder.
The enormous popover began escaping again and bobbing ever so slightly.
Lissa pulled on her cowgirl rope, tightening it very carefully—tighter—tighter—tighter . . .
Then she pulled—and pulled—and pulled.
"Harder!" shouted Timmy.
"Harder, harder!" shouted Sally and Mommy Ruth and Mama Sue and all the grownups.
The enormous escaping popover moved down a little. But not nearly enough.
"Everyone help!" cried Lissa, pulling with all her strength. She was getting very red in the face, and the dogs were barking louder, and the cats had stopped washing their faces and pretending not to notice, and the birds, who now looked very alarmed, had fallen absolutely silent.
But then everyone took hold of the rope, even the dogs and cats and birds, and they all pulled and pulled . . .
And the grownup with the paddle got above the enormous popover and paddled and pushed and poked, and the other grownups puffed and pushed and poked with their two bellows . . .
And at last the enormous escaping popover stopped escaping and came down to earth . . .
. . . with a big hole in one side where the paddle and the two bellows had poked it.
"Hey," said Timmy, thumping on the popover's side. "It did get hard! It's as hard as the side of a house."
Sally thumped it, too. "It's as hard as bricks," she said. "As hard as stones and cement and iron pots."
"Of course it is," said Lissa. "Just as the chef said."
Then the rain began pouring really hard. Timmy and Sally huddled together. The dogs shook themselves onto the cats, who hissed. The birds shivered and hunched down into their wings, and the grownups grumbled about having forgotten their umbrellas.
"Come inside!" Lissa shouted as everyone started to leave. She ran into the enormous no-longer-escaping popover through the big hole the bellows had made.
And so all the neighbors and the dogs and the cats and some of the birds followed her inside out of the rain.
The next day, when the rain had stopped, the popover was still there, hard as ever. It was tipped up a little on one side, though—the side where the rope wasn't holding it down. So Lissa took another cowgirl rope outside, and she and Mommy Ruth and Mama Sue and Timmy and Sally and the grownups who'd climbed the tree and the grownup who'd climbed the ladder tied the popover down on the other side.
"There," said Mama Sue, stepping back and looking at it. "It's not everyone who has an enormous popover in their backyard."
"It's perfect," Mommy Ruth said. "A perfect summerhouse! Just what I've always wanted!"
That afternoon, Lissa and Mommy Ruth and Mama Sue invited all the neighbors for tea. While the neighborhood dogs chased each other around the enormous popover-summerhouse and the neighborhood cats curled up in its nooks and crannies and the neighborhood birds made nests on its lumpy top, Lissa and Mommy Ruth and Mama Sue and Timmy and Sally and all the neighbors sat inside and had tea and popovers—WITHOUT baking powder!
One bright summer afternoon, when light shimmered on the lake and the sky was so blue Lissa was sure someone had just painted it, Lissa, Mommy Ruth, and Mama Sue went out for tea. To keep the sun off, Mama Sue wore her hat with the flowers on it, and Mommy Ruth wore her sailor hat, and Lissa wore her cowgirl hat. She took her cowgirl rope with her, too, because you never know when a rope might come in handy.
They sat at a green wooden table on green wooden chairs on a wide grassy lawn. Mama Sue poured their tea out of a green china pot, and Mommy Ruth passed the milk in its little white pitcher.
Lissa had lots of milk in her tea, and lots of sugar, too.
“I’m hungry!” said Mama Sue. “What is there to eat?”
“Muffins,” said the waitress, who was wearing a green shirt and a tan skirt. “Watercress sandwiches. Seed cake. And—popovers.”
“Popovers!” said Mama Sue. “I haven’t had popovers for years!”
“Popovers!” said Mommy Ruth. “Popovers are my best favorite thing to have for tea.”
“Popovers!” said Lissa. “What are popovers?” She giggled. “Do cowgirls eat popovers?”
Mama Sue smiled. “I bet they would if they could,” she said.
Mommy Ruth smiled. “Popovers are won-der-ful!”
The waitress smiled, too. “Yes, they are,” she said. “And our chef makes the best ones in the whole wide world.” She bent closer to Lissa. “We had a cowboy and a cowgirl here last week,” she said. “And they both had lots of popovers.”
“We’ll have ourselves some popovers,” said Mommy Ruth. “Won’t we, Sue?”
“You bet,” said Mama Sue. “With plenty of butter, and plenty of jam. I do hope you have strawberry jam,” she said to the waitress.
“Oh, yes,” the waitress answered. “We most certainly do.”
“That’s fine, then,” said Mommy Ruth. “Strawberry jam is perfect. Popovers, please, for all of us.”
While they waited for their popovers, Lissa and Mommy Ruth and Mama Sue drank more tea. They watched some ducks playing tag on the lake, and they watched a tiny white cloud float across the sky.
“I think it looks like a cowgirl hat,” said Lissa.
“I think it looks like a mushroom,” said Mama Sue.
“I think it looks like a popover,” said Mommy Ruth—and then their popovers came.
The waitress brought them in a tan basket with a green napkin over them. They were golden brown, and hot steam came out of them. They did look a little like cowgirl hats, or like mushrooms.
The waitress brought plenty of butter, too, in three shallow white dishes. And she brought a shiny metal pot of strawberry jam. “Enjoy your popovers!” she said, and left.
“The popovers look perfect,” said Mama Sue. “You take the big one, Lissa, since it’s your very first popover ever.”
“Now,” Mommy Ruth told Lissa, “break your popover open, like this.”
Lissa broke her popover open. “Oh!” she said. “It’s got caves inside! And nooks and crannies!”
“That’s right,” said Mommy Ruth. “That’s where you put the butter.”
“And the strawberry jam,” said Mama Sue.
“I see,” said Lissa. She put plenty of butter inside her popover’s caves and nooks and crannies, and plenty of strawberry jam, too, and then she took a big bite . . .
“Yum!” said Lissa when her mouth was free again and when she had wiped the melted-butter-and-strawberry-jam dribble off her chin. “Yummy, yum, yum!” She could see why the cowboy and the cowgirl had liked the popovers.
“You know,” said Mommy Ruth thoughtfully, “I bet we could make popovers at home.”
“We could,” said Mama Sue. “But I bet they wouldn’t be as good as these.”
“We could try,” said Lissa. “Couldn’t we?”
“Sure we could,” said Mommy Ruth. “Do we have a recipe?”
“I don’t think so,” said Mama Sue. “But we could ask the chef.”
So after they’d finished their tea, Lissa and Mommy Ruth and Mama Sue went into the kitchen. The chef was a round jolly man in a white apron and a tall white hat. He was stirring popover batter in a huge bowl with an enormous spoon.
“It’s simple,” he said. “All you need is flour and butter and eggs and milk and salt.” He put down his spoon and wrote the recipe on a piece of paper.
“Thank you,” said Mama Sue and Mommy Ruth and Lissa.
“Remember to eat them while they’re hot,” the chef called after them. “Popovers get hard when they’re cold.”
“We’ll remember,” Lissa called back.
On the way home, Mama Sue studied the recipe. “We have flour and butter and eggs and milk and salt,” she said. “But I think he left something out.”
“What?” asked Mommy Ruth, who was driving. “What did he leave out?”
“Baking powder,” said Mama Sue. “How else would the popovers get so big and have all those wonderful caves and nooks and crannies inside?”
“Hmm,” said Mommy Ruth. “Maybe you’re right. Baking powder does make things fluffy and light.”
“He didn’t say baking powder,” Lissa said. “He didn’t write baking powder down. He just wrote down flour and butter and eggs and milk and salt.”
“I think he forgot the baking powder,” said Mama Sue.
“So do I,” said Mommy Ruth. “He must have. We’d better get some.”
So on the way home, Lissa and Mommy Ruth and Mama Sue bought some baking powder. And when they got home, they took out their big bowl and their eggbeater and measuring cups and measuring spoons and mixing spoons and a muffin tin. They put on their aprons and turned on the oven. That made the kitchen hot, so Mama Sue opened the kitchen window wide. It was very hot outside, too. The back yard shimmered in the hot sun and the flowers looked tired.
Lissa broke the eggs.
Mama Sue measured the flour and the salt, and she added a big spoonful of baking powder to make sure the popovers would be light and fluffy and have lots of caves and nooks and crannies inside. Mommy Ruth poured the milk and measured the butter. They all took turns mixing. Finally they poured the batter into the muffin tin, and Mommy Ruth slid the muffin tin into the oven.
And then they set the timer and waited. Lissa practiced her cowgirl rope tricks.
Pretty soon they could smell the cooking popovers.
“Mmm!” said Mommy Ruth. “I think I’m hungry all over again.”
In a little while there was a funny noise in the kitchen. A sort of poofing and whooshing and whishing noise.
“Maybe we have a mouse,” said Mama Sue.
“I’ll go see,” said Lissa.
She went into the kitchen. “Oh, no!” she shouted. “Mommy Ruth! Mama Sue! Come quick! Our popovers are trying to escape!”
The oven door was wide open. And the popovers had exploded into one giant popover with a fat, fluffy leg where each muffin cup had been. Like a giant mushroom with twelve stems, the enormous popover pushed out of the oven . . .
. . . floated across the whole kitchen . . .
. . . glided smoothly out the window . . .
. . . and hovered over the shimmering backyard like a giant balloon!
All the neighborhood dogs barked.
All the neighborhood cats jumped up and tried to bat at the giant popover with their paws.
All the neighborhood birds flew back and forth above the popover, chirping anxiously.
All the neighborhood children stood in a big circle around it and cheered.
All the neighborhood grownups stood around and discussed How It Must Have Happened . . .
(“That’s easy,” Lissa told Sally, her best friend. “It was the baking powder.”)
. . . and How To Get It Down.
One grownup got a ladder, put it against a nearby tree, and climbed up it carrying a canoe paddle. With the paddle he tried to push the popover down.
But it just floated a little to one side, near a littlewhite cloud.
So another grownup got an extra big fireplace bellows and climbed another tree. She tried to blow the popover toward the first grownup. But it moved only a little and then stopped.
Then a third grownup got an even bigger fireplace bellows and climbed the tree, too. The two grownups in the tree puffed and puffed with their two bellows . . .
And the popover moved a little more . . .
But it just floated to the middle, where none of the grownups could reach it.
Timmy, who lived next door, got his slingshot and tried to shoot it down.
But the stone he shot at it just bounced off. The popover went higher and bobbed gently back and forth.
Meanwhile, the beautiful bright blue sky had begun to turn dark. There was a big black cloud instead of the little white one, and it was getting bigger. The backyard wasn’t shimmering any more. There were shadows around the flowers and under the enormous escaping popover.
“It’s going to rain,” Sally said.
“The popover will get all wet and yucky,” said Timmy.
“And then it’ll fall down and there’ll be wet popover dough all over everything,” said Lissa. “Oh, no!”
“Eeeeew!” said Sally.
“Gross,” said Timmy.
“It’ll smother the flowers,” said Mommy Ruth.
“It’ll leave strings of dough in the trees,” said Mama Sue.
The grownups stood around and discussed What To Do.
Lissa thought while everyone else talked. “I don’t think it’ll get wet and yucky,” she said after a while. “The chef said to remember that popovers get harder as they cool. And Timmy’s stone just bounced off. Maybe I could rope it the way cowgirls rope cows. And pull it down.”
All the grownups looked at her.
All the children looked at her.
All the cats and dogs looked at her.
The birds looked at the darkening sky and chirped anxiously again.
“Hah!” said Timmy. “Bet you can’t! Bet your rope’s not long enough.”
“I can make my rope longer,” Lissa said.
“See?” said Sally. “Bet she can.”
Lissa ran inside and got lots more rope. She tied it to the end of her cowgirl rope, and then it was much longer.
The grownup who’d climbed the ladder picked up his paddle. “If I try to push the popover one way . . .”
“And if we try to push it the other way . . .” said the first grownup who’d blown at it with a bellows.
“Maybe we can hold the popover still,” said the grownup with the other bellows. “And then maybe Lissa can rope it!”
So the grownups went up again, one on the ladder and two in the tree. They pushed and paddled and blew, and Lissa began twirling her rope. She twirled and twirled, faster and faster and faster and faster . . .
Then, when the popover stopped bobbing back and forth, Lissa let go of the noose end of the rope.
Up, up, up it flew into the dark sky.
Up, up, up it sailed—higher than the enormous escaping popover . . .
“Oh,” everyone gasped. “Oh, no!”
But then the rope settled slowly, slowly . . .
. . . over the popover in exactly the right way.
Thunder rumbled.
A drop of rain fell.
And another . . .
“Quick!” shouted Timmy.
“Quick, quick!” shouted Sally and Mommy Ruth and Mama Sue and all the grownups.
The dogs, who were watching, all barked. (The cats were washing their faces and pretending not to notice.) The birds chirped louder.
The enormous popover began escaping again and bobbing ever so slightly.
Lissa pulled on her cowgirl rope, tightening it very carefully—tighter—tighter—tighter . . .
Then she pulled—and pulled—and pulled.
“Harder!” shouted Timmy.
“Harder, harder!” shouted Sally and Mommy Ruth and Mama Sue and all the grownups.
The enormous escaping popover moved down a little. But not nearly enough.
“Everyone help!” cried Lissa, pulling with all her strength. She was getting very red in the face, and the dogs were barking louder, and the cats had stopped washing their faces and pretending not to notice, and the birds, who now looked very alarmed, had fallen absolutely silent.
But then everyone took hold of the rope, even the dogs and cats and birds, and they all pulled and pulled . . .
And the grownup with the paddle got above the enormous popover and paddled and pushed and poked, and the other grownups puffed and pushed and poked with their two bellows . . .
And at last the enormous escaping popover stopped escaping and came down to earth . . .
. . . with a big hole in one side where the paddle and the two bellows had poked it.
“Hey,” said Timmy, thumping on the popover’s side. “It did get hard! It’s as hard as the side of a house.”
Sally thumped it, too. “It’s as hard as bricks,” she said. “As hard as stones and cement and iron pots.”
“Of course it is,” said Lissa. “Just as the chef said.”
Then the rain began pouring really hard. Timmy and Sally huddled together. The dogs shook themselves onto the cats, who hissed. The birds shivered and hunched down into their wings, and the grownups grumbled about having forgotten their umbrellas.
“Come inside!” Lissa shouted as everyone started to leave. She ran into the enormous no-longer-escaping popover through the big hole the bellows had made.
And so all the neighbors and the dogs and the cats and some of the birds followed her inside out of the rain.
The next day, when the rain had stopped, the popover was still there, hard as ever. It was tipped up a little on one side, though, the side where the rope wasn’t holding it down. So Lissa took another cowgirl rope outside, and she and Mommy Ruth and Mama Sue and Timmy and Sally and the grownups who’d climbed the tree and the grownup who’d climbed the ladder tied the popover down on the other side.
“There,” said Mama Sue, stepping back and looking at it. “It’s not everyone who has an enormous popover in their backyard.”
“It’s perfect,” Mommy Ruth said. “A perfect summerhouse! Just what I’ve always wanted!”
That afternoon, Lissa and Mommy Ruth and Mama Sue invited all the neighbors for tea. While the neighborhood dogs chased each other around the enormous popover-summerhouse and the neighborhood cats curled up in its nooks and crannies and the neighborhood birds made nests on its lumpy top, Lissa and Mommy Ruth and Mama Sue and Timmy and Sally and all the neighbors sat inside and had tea and popovers—popovers made WITHOUT baking powder!
Copyright © 2005 Nancy Garden. All rights reserved.
