I don't suppose it's your fault. But it isn't right, you know. Who made you?"
"Jules Grogrande, the baker," he said, for he had read the name over the door.
"I always knew there was something wrong with those Frenchies," she declared. "Are you done?"
Before he could reply she had drawn a large straw from the broom and stuck it several inches into his side.
"Don't do that!" he cried, indignantly, as she drew out the bit of broom again.
"I was only tryin' you," she remarked. "You're done to a turn, and ought to make good eating while you're fresh."
John gazed at her in horror.
"Good eating!" he cried; "woman, would you murder me?"
"I can't say it would be exactly murder," she replied, looking at him hungrily.
"To destroy life is murder?" he said, sternly.
"But to destroy gingerbread isn't," she rejoined. "And I can't see that it's cannibalism to eat a man if he happens to be cake, and fresh baked. And that frosting looks good. Come inside while I get a knife."
She opened the gate and tried to grab John Dough by an arm. But he gave a sudden backward leap and then sped down the street at a furious run, looking neither to right nor left in his eager flight.
Luckily, he was not in the center of the town, but near the outskirts, and the houses were few and scattered.
By and by he saw a deserted barn near the roadside. The door was half open and sagged on its hinges, so it could not be closed.
John darted into the barn and hid behind some hay in the far side. He was thoroughly frightened, and believed he must avoid mingling with the people of the town if he would escape instant destruction.
A knife! A knife! The word kept ringing in his ears and filled him with horror. A knife could slice him into pieces easily. He imagined himself sliced and lying on a plate ready for hungry folks to eat, and the picture made him groan aloud.
All through the day he kept securely hidden behind the hay. Toward evening he decided to revisit the bakery. It was a difficult task, for he had passed through many streets and lanes without noticing where he was going, and it grew darker every minute. But at last, just as he was beginning to despair, he saw a dim light in a window and read over the door the sign: "Jules Grogrande, Baker."
He opened the door so softly that the little bell scarcely tinkled. But no one would have heard it had it rung loudly, for there was a confused murmur of fierce voices coming from the little room Madame usually occupied.
John Dough skipped behind the counter, where he could see into the room without being seen himself.
Around the little table stood the Arab, Monsieur Jules, and Madame, and they were all staring angrily into each other's faces.
"But the flask!" cried Ali Dubh. "Where is my precious flask?"
"It is here," said Madame, reaching behind the mirror and drawing forth something that glittered in the lamplight.
"But this is the silver flask – the cure for rheumatism," exclaimed the Arab. "Where my Golden Flask – containing the priceless Elixir of Life?"
"I must have made a mistake," said Madame, honestly; "for my eyes are so queer that I cannot tell gold from silver. Anyway, the contents of the other flask I emptied into a bowl of water, and rubbed my limbs with it."
The Arab shouted a despairing cry in his native tongue and then glared wildly at the woman.
"Was it the brown bowl, Leontine?" asked Monsieur Jules, trembling with excitement.
"Yes," she answered.
"Where is it? Where is it?" demanded the Arab, in a hoarse voice. "The precious liquor may yet be saved."
"Too late, Monsieur," said the baker, shaking his head, sadly. "I used the contents of the bowl to mix the dough for my gingerbread man."
"A gingerbread man! What do you mean?" asked Ali Dubh.
"I baked a man out of gingerbread this morning," said Monsieur Jules, "and to my horror he came alive, and spoke to me, and walked out of the shop while he was still smoking hot."
"It is no wonder," said the Arab, dolefully; "for within him was enough of the Great Elixir to bring a dozen men to life, and give them strength and energy for many years. Ah, Monsieur and Madame, think of what your stupidity has cost the world!"
"I do not comprehend," said Madame, firmly, "how the world has ever yet been benefited by the Great Elixir, which you and your selfish countrymen have kept for centuries corked up in a golden flask."
"Bismillah!" shouted the Arab, striking himself fiercely across the forehead with his clinched fist. "Cannot you understand, you stupid one, that it was mine —mine!– this Wonderful Water of Life? I had planned to use it myself – drop by drop – that I might live forever."
"I'm sorry," said Monsieur; "but it is your own fault. You forced my wife to care for the flask, and you would not let her tell me about it. So, through your own stupidity, I used it in the gingerbread man."
"Ah!" said Ali Dubh, an eager gleam in his eyes, "where, then, is that same gingerbread man? If I can find him, and eat him, a bit at a time, I shall get the benefit of the Great Elixir after all! It would not be so powerful, perhaps, as in its natural state; but it would enable me to live for many, many years!"
John Dough heard this speech with a thrill of horror. Also he now began to understand how he happened to be alive.
"I do not know where the gingerbread man is," said Monsieur. "He walked out of my shop while he was quite hot."
"But he can be found," said the Arab. "It is impossible for a gingerbread man, who is alive, to escape notice. Come, let us search for him at once! I must find him and eat him."
He fairly dragged Monsieur and Madame from the room in his desperation, and John Dough crouched out of sight behind the counter until he heard them pass through the door and their footsteps die away up the street.
The talk he had overheard made the gingerbread man very sad indeed. The bakery was no safe home for him, after all. Evidently it was the Arab's intention to find him and insist upon eating him; and John Dough did not want to be eaten at all.
Therefore his enemies must not find him. They were no safer to meet with than the awful woman who wanted to cut him into slices; and he was learning, by degrees, that all men were dangerous enemies to him, although he had himself the form of a man.
He left the bakery and stole out into the street once more, walking now in the opposite direction from that taken by the Arab and the Grograndes.
As he hurried along he met with few people on the streets; and these, in the dark, paid little attention to the gingerbread man; so gradually his spirits rose and his confidence in his future returned.
By and by he heard a strange popping and hissing coming from the direction of the square in the center of the town, and then he saw red and green lights illuminating the houses, and fiery comets go sailing into the sky to break into dozens of beautiful colored stars.
The people were having their Fourth of July fireworks,
