I
It was wonderful. It was wonderful that it happened every day. As soon
as Cook placed the pot of milk and the earthenware oatmeal pan upon the
stove, it would all begin. At first, there was silence; then
conversation.
"I am Little Milk."
"And I am Little Cereal."
At first, conversation was carried on in whispers. But gradually both
Little Cereal and Little Milk would grow more and more excited.
"I AM LITTLE MILK!"
"AND I AM LITTLE CEREAL!"
The cereal was generally covered with an earthenware cover and she
grumbled away in her pot like an old woman. When she grew angry, there
came to the top a bubble that burst and said:
"Still, I am Little Cereal. Puff!!"
This boasting was offensive to Little Milk.
"My what a wonder! As if one had never seen oatmeal cereal before!" and
Little Milk would grow more and more excited until rising to the top
in a foam, she tried to get out from the pot. No sooner would Cook turn
her head away than Little Milk would run all over the hot stove.
"Oh, this milk," complained Cook every time it happened. "No sooner do
I take my eyes off it than it runs over."
"I can't help my fiery temper," would reply Little Milk, defending
herself. "It doesn't make me happy to be angry and to hear the
boastings of Cereal, 'I'm Cereal! I'm Cereal! I'm Cereal!' To see her
sitting there in her pan and grumbling makes me angrier and angrier."
It happened sometimes that, in spite of the cover, Little Cereal would
escape from her pan and creep along the stove, forever repeating:
"I'm Cereal! I'm Cereal! I'm Cereal! Z-h-h! Z-h-h!"
Of course, this did not happen every day, but it did happen, and each
time, Cook in despair would say:
"Oh, this Cereal! It is amazing how it will not stay in the pan."