The Little Gingerbread Man

One day, the cook went into the kitchen to make some gingerbread. She took some flour and water, and treacle and ginger, and mixed them all well together. Then she put in more water to make it thin, then more flour to make it thick again, plus a little salt and some spice, and rolled it out into a beautiful, smooth, dark-gold dough.

Then she took the square tins and cut out some square cakes for the little boys, and with some round tins she cut out some round cakes for the little girls, and then she said, “I’m going to make a little gingerbread man for little Bobby.” So she took a nice round lump of dough for his body, and a smaller lump for his head, which she pulled out a little for the neck. Two other lumps were stuck on beneath for the legs and pulled into proper shape, with feet and toes all complete, and two still smaller pieces were made into arms, with dear little hands and fingers.

But the nicest work was done on the head, for the top was frizzed up into a pretty sugary hat; on either side she made a dear little ear, and in front, after the nose had been carefully molded, a beautiful mouth was made out of a big raisin, and two bright little eyes with burnt almonds and caraway seeds.

Then the gingerbread man was finished, ready for baking, and a very jolly little man he was. In fact, he looked so sly that the cook was afraid he was plotting some mischief, and when the batter was ready for the oven, she put in the square cakes and she put in the round cakes; and then she put the little gingerbread man in a far back corner, where he couldn’t get away in a hurry.