Probably Prune

Terence, says Jeanne Jugan. Have you finished the watering?

No, says Terence. I haven't even started.

It looks to me like you've started, says Jeanne Jugan. The hydrangea on the end is in bits.

That was before Roo-kai turned the tap off, says Terence.

Not off, says Roo-kai. Pressure down.

A good thing too, says Pierre-Louis. As it is, were still soaked.

Yes, we are, says Belle. I hope the frogs are okay. 

She lifts the poem bag out of her panier velo.

The paper is wet. The frogs' legs poke out through the bottom.

Let me see! says Terence. 

See what's happened, says Belle. The paper bag with that lovely poem written on it is ruined.

Is that my fault? asks Terence.

Did I say it was? asks Belle.

It may not be ruined, says Jeanne Jugan. Bring it inside and I'll light a fire. We'll soon get it dry.

An excellent idea, says Saint Méen. We can dry out our beanies. 

Yes, you'd better, says Jeanne Jugan. Your haloes are giving out sparks.

Is that what the smell is? asks Pierre-Louis. 

What smell? asks Saint Maclou.

Scorched wool, says Pierre-Louis.

They all go inside,

There's a gâteau Breton for afternoon tea, says Jeanne Jugan. But I'll light the fire first.

She soon gets a fire going.

Belle sits on a stool near it, and extracts the frogs from the paper bag.

What happened? asks Quiet-tartus. 

Terence, says Belle. He's watering the flowers outside. Go and find him.

Quiet-tartus and the knowlesi hop out through the front door.

Soon the paper bag, the saints' red beanies and Pierre-Louis's lapland hat are drying in front of the fire.

Jeanne Jugan has made mugs of coffee and found a knife for the gâteau.

She saws through it. Ruh-uh-ruh-uh

Is it the one with the prune filling? asks Saint Maclou. Or the salted caramel?

Probably prune, says Jeanne Jugan. But I can't say for certain. I've had it a while.