When I came across this story in Mom’s archives, I thought of Dad, and wondered if there were any photos of him that might be appropriate to use for illustrations.

Then I saw the dedication, and knew it was meant to be.

To Hap
affectionately and accurately
known in the family as
“The Midnight Mouse”

And here’s that mouse’s tale:

The Pie Sitter

There was a man once hired to be a pie sitter. This man was a poor choice because he had an extremely sweet tooth. However, he was good natured, a helpful sort who knew the baker and his wife. “I can do it,” he told them; “this time I will truly control myself.”

Now the baker and his wife were called out on urgent family matters and desperately needed someone to box the dessert pies for the card championship that evenng. “We will return in three hours,” promised the wife, “and if the committee comes for the pies before then unlock the door and let them in.” With that, they closed the shop for trade, leaving the pie sitter alone with his work.

There was no doubt where the pies were to be found: their aroma drew him like a magnet to the back room. Even at a distance this man’s nose was so trained he could smell apple from blueberry, pecan from coconut custard. The long table held at least forty pies and two stacks of flat boxes to be assembled.

“Hmm,” said the pie sitter, “I wonder if they’ve cooled enough to be handled. With so many to box I really should get started.”

He walked over to the table and gingerly placed a finger on one of the pies. “All right,” he said, referring to the pie’s condition, but also thinking about how this pineapple one might taste. He examined several others and felt them to be quite ready too.

“What a feast of pies and such an assortment,” he remarked. The flavors from the morning baking lingered in the air.

“Here is a master baker,” said the man.

Humming a little tune he began to prepare the boxes for the pies, fitting the ends into the little slots provided. “I’m running out of room,” he said; “I’d better begin putting the pies in.”

“All right, Raspberry,” he crooned, and closed the cover on the first pie. He took a little pencil from his pocket and wrote the pie name on the box.

“In you go, Banana Cream,” he whispered, and was closing the lid when he thought of the pale plush filling he knew so well.

The next pie was too much for him: it was Strawberry and the lattice crust showed window after window of rosy delight. Like a rod used to locate water in the ground his Dipping Finger began to twitch and poked into the pie.

“Mmm,” said the pie sitter, “this is heavenly,”

… and his Sweet Tooth began to hum. “I’ll smooth over the hole and who can guess what happened.” He did so and boxed the pie.

The Pumpkin Pie enchanted him: here it was with its full moon face open to the air. Down went the Dipping Finger, making a little path along the rim. The Sweet Tooth began to whistle and grow a little in his mouth.

“Divine,” the man murmured, “now to the Lemon Meringue.” He was undone now, scooping up the meringue like snow for snowballs. The lemon underneath was perfect.

On and on he ate, the Sweet Tooth crowding his mouth now and beginning to play like a brass band as he rolled from pie to pie, all dignity, all honor gone. At last he stopped, his stomach and his Sweet Tooth swollen large. He sat on the floor in a daze and fell over into sleep.

An hour later, the sound of a key in the lock failed to rouse him, nor did the baker calling, “We’re back; did they pick up the pies yet?”

The pie sitter lay in a stupor, stuffed with pie. The baker and his wife were horrified at the devastation around them and the condition of the sitter.

“What can we do now?” moaned the baker.

“Only one thing,” said his wife. “Call the ice cream shop and order all the cakes and rolls they have or can make. We will pay for them and deliver them to the hall. Then we’ll tell the card club committee there’s been an emergency and there’ll be a different dessert.”

The baker sighed, “You’re right. It’s a disaster here but I think we can salvage our word and reputation if we do thus. I’ll close the door so I can’t see the mess and try to calm down.”

While they worked on the new plan the pie sitter began to wake and stir. His head cleared a little and the sight of what he had done overcame him. “I’m ruined,” he sobbed; “I have destroyed my honor and the baker’s good name. I must do something to redeem myself.”

He opened the door slowly and saw the baker and his wife talking quietly. They looked up and waited for an explanation.

“I was a fool to think I could resist all those pies,” said the man.

“I want to clean up everything and work to pay you for all the money you lost on the pies I ate.”

“I was a fool to let you stay alone with all those pies,” said the baker. “We have just ordered from the ice cream shop as many cakes and rolls as the pies we made for tonight. We are saved but we need to pay for and deliver them to the hall.”

The pie sitter squirmed: “Please let me help you deliver them and work for you however you wish until my debt is paid. My stomach is sick from all I ate and my Sweet Tooth aches and aches. I have lost my taste for pies.”

“We shall see,” said the baker. “I will accept your offer to clean up and deliver the ice cream. Then we will have to find a way for you to pay your debt.”

The next day the pie sitter was put to work rolling crusts. He was slow and sloppy and uneasy since the baker wanted all done well. At lunchtime when the baker offered him a slice of chocolate chiffon pie, he turned away. “No, it doesn’t appeal to me now. I drowned in shame because of my greed and I couldn’t bear to eat it. Even the smell makes me guilty.”

“Well, you are a good man at heart,” said the baker.

“Perhaps we can find you another job and you can pay me back from those wages.”

They walked down the high street together, stopping to talk to the shop owners about available work. Easter was coming and the windows were bright with egg and rabbit decorations. The baker knew all the shopkeepers well; he introduced the man and asked about work for him. The grocer, the pharmacist, the hardware store owner all had plenty of help but when they entered the chocolate shop a very distraught lady said she had no time to talk.

“What’s the trouble?” asked the baker.

“My candy maker’s helper has just gone into the hospital! Easter is coming; I’m behind on my orders and my shelves are half empty.”

“You need help,” said the baker, “but do you need expert help?”

“No,” said the woman, “just a good worker to follow simple directions would be enough.”

“Then I may have just the man,” said the baker, and turned to his companion: “Are you up to it?”

“Yes,” said the other, so grateful that the baker had faith in him after the disaster in the bake shop. “I’m ready and willing.”

“This is my friend Joseph,” said the baker. “He’ll do a fine job.”

“Thank goodness you’ve come,” said the woman. “Follow me and you can begin now.”

The baker saw little of Joseph the next few days but through the windows of the chocolate shop he saw the shelves beginning to fill up again with jars of jelly beans and chocolate rabbits. He also saw people coming out with shiny bags so he knew they were buying.

The baker himself was busy making poppyseed cakes and cinnamon nut rolls for Easter morning. He was finishing up on Saturday when his friend Joseph came to the door.

“I’m glad you’re still here, John,” said Joseph, “for I want to pay you and tell you I have regular work in the chocolate shop. It was my dipping finger that did it! The candy maker calls me an expert and is training me to take over when he retires next year. He told me my testing the chocolate with my dipping finger has enabled him to improve the flavor. He said I was a natural and there was something missing before I came, that nobody else has such a taste and understanding of sweets.”

“How wonderful!” said John the baker. “I am so proud of you, my friend.”

Joseph smiled. “I have a gift for you, to thank you for your confidence in me.” He handed John a square box covered with gold foil and tied with purple ribbon.

John opened his gift. It was a chocolate rabbit with a wide grin on his face. In his paws he held a raspberry candy pie.

“I helped to make him,” said Joseph; “he’s an Easter present. His name is Pieface.”

The two friends looked at each other and laughed. Then John put out his hand and Joseph shook it.

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“The Pie Sitter” ©1993  Joan Vayo. All rights reserved.

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