The Lemon That Rolled Away

Elsie heard Grandma say, "Oh dear, my lemon has rolled off the table," so she hopped down from her stool to find it.

She wanted that lemon very much. Without it, there would be no lemon cake. And Elsie had been promised the first lick of the spoon.

Grandma kept stirring the butter and sugar. "My knees don't bend like yours, love. You look."

On the windowsill sat the little tin rooster. It spun round, creaking, and pointed its beak under the table. It always pointed at whatever was lost, and nobody in the kitchen thought that was strange.

Elsie crawled under the table. There was the lemon, yellow as a duck. She reached out her fingers. Just as she touched it, the lemon rolled away.

"Come back!" said Elsie.

She crawled after it. She reached again. Roll, roll, it went, past the chair leg and across the floor.

Elsie tried the long wooden spoon. She slid it out to sweep the lemon close. But the lemon rolled around the spoon and off toward the pantry door.

"Round and round, the lemon goes," sang Grandma, stirring.

Elsie sat back on her heels. She watched the lemon go. It did not roll anywhere it liked. It rolled the same way every time, down toward the corner by the stove.

"The floor is tilted," Elsie said. "Like a slide."

She fetched Grandma's big pot and set it in the corner, with its mouth open. Then she gave the lemon a gentle push.

Roll, roll, roll, bonk! The lemon dropped into the pot.

"Got it!" cried Elsie.

The tin rooster spun again, creaking. This time it pointed at Grandma's apron pocket.

Grandma patted the pocket and pulled out her glasses. "Well, I never. I've been looking for those all morning."

Soon the oven was warm and humming. Elsie held the spoon, sticky and sweet, and the whole kitchen smelled of lemon.