The Baker's Tale Read Online Free Page B

possibly be such another good nook or corner in the room until she looked at the next one and found it equal to if not better than the one before.
    Eventually, she found the gingerbread man and returned to the parlour with Mr. Joy. Port wine, plum pudding, cheeses, pastries, and roasted chestnuts were being served.
    Then Ruby announced that she had a story to tell and recounted a tale that I believe was about a dragon, since I heard the phrase “bad dragon” several times and she snorted as though she were a dragon. At the close of the recitation, she shouted “bad dragon” one more time, exhaled as though dying, and with great drama lay down on the floor with her eyes closed and her arms across her chest.
    There was applause, which she enjoyed immensely, after which she turned to Mr. Joy and announced that it was his turn to tell a story.
    â€œWhy don’t I read you a story,” he suggested.
    Mr. Joy went to his study, returned with a book of fairy tales, put on his reading spectacles, and began.
    â€œOnce upon a time, there was a beautiful princess, who had everything she could wish for and a great deal more. The princess lived in a beautiful palace. She had gold and silver and diamonds—”
    â€œAnd potatoes,” Ruby interrupted.
    â€œThat’s right. The princess had potatoes.”
    â€œAnd soup and bread and lots of jam.”
    â€œAnd what did the palace look like?” Mr. Joy inquired.
    â€œThe princess had her own bed,” Ruby answered. “And there was a fireplace and everyone was happy.”
    As it should be in a fairy tale.
    â€œWhat did the princess look like?” Ruby asked, summoning Mr. Joy to return to the narrative.
    â€œWell,” he told her, “she had eyes like Ruby and hair like Ruby and smiled like Ruby and laughed like Ruby.”
    â€œIt was me,” Ruby offered.
    â€œAnd one day, Ruby left the palace on a magical journey.”
    â€œAnd then I met a dragon.”
    â€œThat’s right. Ruby met a dragon.”
    â€œA big dragon with fire in its mouth that jumped out of the woods. And I said to the dragon, ‘Do you want to play with me?’ And the dragon said yes, so I played with the dragon.”
    There was a pause.
    â€œRead from the book,” Ruby instructed.
    â€œThe sky was blue. The sun was bright. The water was sparkling. The leaves were green.”
    â€œAnd then I met another dragon,” Ruby interrupted. “And this dragon didn’t want to play with me. So the first dragon that was the nice dragon ate the bad dragon.”
    â€œI have seen many children in my life,” Octavius Joy told us at day’s end. “But never a child like Ruby.”
    Perhaps that is because there never was another child like Ruby. Of course, many people, I am sure, feel that way about their sons and daughters and other loved ones. So I will say simply that Ruby was an energetic, charming, exuberant, marvelous, ingratiating, indefatigable bundle of joy.
    She took a child’s delight in walking the streets and looking in shop windows. When a rare winter storm came to London, she and Christopher strolled about, leaving footprints in the freshly fallen snow on London Bridge above the River Thames. Her first shoes with laces were cause for celebration.
    Like all children, she thought at times that she was the pivot on which the world turned. She drew a picture of my bakery that I affixed to the wall and, whenever she came to visit, gazed at thedrawing with pride. She regarded each annual celebration of her birth as a well-earned distinction brought about as a consequence of her own monumental achievement.
    She was unruly at times.
    â€œMiss Spriggs,” I chastised on one such occasion. “I am older than you and, some might think, wiser. Therefore, I will inform you that it is not the custom in London to put one’s knife in one’s mouth. The fork is reserved for that purpose, but is not to