It was almost fresh and tasted better than anything
Dorothy had eaten in the town.
"Where do you get the butter?" she inquired.
"We dig it out of the ground, which, as you may have observed, is all
flour and meal," replied Mr. Bunn. "There is a butter mine just at
the opposite side of the village. The trees which you see here are
all doughleanders and doughderas, and in the season we get quite a
crop of dough-nuts off them."
"I should think the flour would blow around and get into your eyes,"
said Dorothy.
"No," said he; "we are bothered with cracker dust sometimes, but
never with flour."
Then he took her to see Johnny Cake, a cheerful old gentleman who
lived near by.
"I suppose you've heard of me," said old Johnny, with an air of pride.
"I'm a great favorite all over the world."
"Aren't you rather yellow?" asked Dorothy, looking at him critically.
"Maybe, child. But don't think I'm bilious, for I was never in better
health in my life," replied the old gentleman. "If anything ailed me,
I'd willingly acknowledge the corn."
"Johnny's a trifle stale," said Mr. Bunn, as they went away; "but he's
a good mixer and never gets cross-grained.
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