Miss Cricket and the

Magical Pie Pan

by Kallie George

illustrated by Aidan Cassie

Miss Cricket owned a magical tin pie pan. If she touched it and said, “Blackberry pie” out popped the best tasting blackberry pie in the whole world. If she touched it and said, “Chicken pot pie” out popped the best-tasting chicken pot pie in the whole world. And if she touched it and said, “Muffins,” well, nothing happened, because it only produced pie. It was, after all, a magical pie pan. Not a magical muffin pan.

           Apart from having a magical pie pan, Miss Cricket also had a stutter. It wasn’t a bad stutter, but it was noticeable. You see, even though Miss Cricket owned the best pie pan in the whole world, what she really, really wanted were friends. Since she was embarrassed about her stutter, she was very shy and didn’t try to make any friends...so she didn’t have any.

           One afternoon when Miss Cricket asked for hot apple pie, out popped an apple pie so piping hot she couldn’t eat it for fear of burning her tongue. “I’ll put it on m…m…my window sill to cool,” decided Miss Cricket.

           The breeze was strong and the steam from the cooling apple pie blew across her lawn and down the street right into the nostrils of none other than Mr. Paganini. “Mmm,” said Mr. Paganini. “That smells delicious!”

           When Miss Cricket came back to the window to get the pie, lo and behold there was Mr. Paganini. Miss Cricket was so startled, she dropped the pie.

           Mr. Paganini tried to catch it but…

           Splat! It fell right onto the ground.

           Oh! How embarrassed Miss Cricket was and when she tried to apologize all that came out was her dreadful stutter. But Mr. Paganini didn’t care. He laughed and licked his fingers. “That, my dear, is the most delicious pie I have ever tasted!”

           Of course, Miss Cricket invited him in to wash his face, and while he was in the bathroom, she hurried into her parlor and wished for a second apple pie. When Mr. Paganini emerged from cleaning up, with all the nerve she could muster, she invited him to join her for tea. “I have a…another pie,” she said.

          Mr. Paganini was utterly pleased and accepted at once. They had such a delightful time in each other’s company, they decided to meet again the next week. Before long, the weekly tea parties were routine. Mr. Paganini told all of his friends about Miss Cricket and her marvelous pies. He asked Miss Cricket if he could invite a friend. Miss Cricket, pleased as punch, said yes. The numbers of guests invited to the tea parties quickly grew. Miss Cricket no longer felt lonely.

           But sometimes, at night after everybody left, Miss Cricket wondered if all they liked about her were the pies. She felt guilty every time they praised her. “Your baking is getting better and better every week,” they said.

           The only thing Miss Cricket had gotten better at was working her magical pie pan. If she couldn’t think of a pie flavor all she had to say was “One pie, please” and out popped a pie of unusual flavor—crabapple, thimbleberry, even squash! Every time it was different, and every time it was delicious.

           Also, if she touched her pie pan and said “Three lemon pies, please,” out popped lemon pies: one, two, three! This saved time, especially when preparing for the grandest tea parties.

           It was at one such tea party that Mrs. Amabel posed a question to Miss Cricket. “You must have heard that I am the head of the Charity Aid society,” said Mrs. Amabel.

           “Of course, of course,” replied Miss Cricket.

           “We are hosting a huge picnic this very Sunday for all our members. I was wondering, dear Miss Cricket, and of course I understand if this is too short of notice, but could you donate some of your delicious pies?”

           Miss Cricket was tinkled pink. But she humbly replied, “M…m…my pies are not nearly good enough…”

           “Oh! Miss Cricket, I do protest,” proclaimed Mr. Paganini. “Why, your pies are the best on earth!”

           Miss Cricket’s cheeks grew as pink as her dishes. “How m…m…many people will be at this picnic?”

           “There are one hundred members in our group. But, of course, all we would need…”

           Miss Cricket laughed and interrupted, “Fifty pies it shall be. Then there will be plenty of pie for guests to take home. You could even have the benefit here, at m…m…my house. M…m…my lawn is very large.”

           “Oh! Miss Cricket, you are much too kind.”

           Miss Cricket’s blushed again, partially with guilt knowing her secret and partially with happiness to have such lovely friends.

           The days passed quickly that week and soon Sunday morning arrived. It was a very sunny day. It was perfect. Miss Cricket spent a pleasant morning folding napkins and setting out sun umbrellas. With only half-an-hour left until guests arrived, Miss Cricket thought she’d better begin the pie-producing process.

           First, she cleared off her kitchen table and counters, because fifty pies would need a lot of counter space.

           She had decided upon mulberry, which was a nice, tart, crisp pie, but thought she’d better test one first just to make sure it was the best choice.

           Miss Cricket placed her pie pan on her counter and said, “One Mul…Mul…Mullion pies.”

           She let go of the pan.

           “Oh m…m…my goodness! What have I done?” she cried.

           Indeed! What had Miss Cricket done?

           Instead of saying Mulberry, she had said MULLION! And the pie tin thought it was MILLION.

           There was no stopping them. One after another, unusually flavored pies popped forth, and Miss Cricket had no chance for further lamentation because it took all her effort to find places to put them.

           They filled up her kitchen! They filled up her living room! They crowded the bathroom! They piled into her bedroom! Once the house was completely filled with steaming pies of all flavors, she ran with the pie pan outside and began to stack them there, too. All across the yard even down the driveway: pies, pies, PIES!

           Miss Cricket was ready to faint from exhaustion. And only five hundred pies had popped out. She needed to stop her pan! She needed to get it out of her sight!

She grabbed it and ran into her kitchen and threw it into her ice box. She slammed the ice box door shut and latched it. Then Miss Cricket ran to the far corner of the kitchen and waited, imagining all the pies that were filling up the icebox as every second passed.

          Suddenly…

           BOOM!

           The icebox door burst open. Out flew a mess of pie filling and pastry and out flew the pie pan, crumpled up like a ball. It had imploded with the pressure of all the pies! The pies had stopped! They had finally stopped!

           Miss Cricket burst into tears.

           Just then the first guests arrived, Mr. Paganini and Mrs. Amabel.

           “Why, Miss Cricket, what ever is going on? There are pies in your driveway! There are pies in your lawn! I’ve never seen so many pies in my entire life! How on earth?”

           Miss Cricket tearfully held up the crumpled pie pan. “Now you know. This was m…m…my m…m…magic pie pan. I’m no baker at all.” She sniffed. “I lied to you because I wanted to be your friend.”

           “Oh, Miss Cricket,” exclaimed Mr. Pagaini. “We’re not your friends because of your pies. We’re your friends because we like you. Your delicious pies are just a palatable perk.”

           “Really?”

           “Truly!”

           “You don’t care about m…m…my stutter?”

           “Your stutter, my dear, is charming!” replied Mr. Paganini.

           Miss Cricket stood up and wiped away her tears. Under the tears, she was beaming. Then she remembered something. She waved around the kitchen. “But my pies! What will we do with five hundred pies?”

           Mrs. Amabel laughed. “Why, Miss Cricket! We are a Charity AID society after all. I am sure we can find people who need some tasty food.”

           And find people they did. Not a single soul went hungry in the town that day, not even the ants.

*          *          *

           Miss Cricket took her pie pan to a tinsmith in town who pounded it out. But he couldn’t completely un-rumple it and the pies that came out looked a mess, although they still tasted divine. And sometimes, when she was really brave, Miss Cricket tried to cook without the help of the pan. And her tea parties were always a success, even when her muffins were a little gooey, or her cookies overly crisp, or the pies perfectly awful looking.