about
midday
The year before Mother Barberin had made a feast for me with pancakes and apple fritters , and I had eaten so many that she had beamed and laughed with pleasure . But now we had no Rousette to give us milk or butter , so there would be no Shrove Tuesday , I said to myself sadly . But Mother Barberin had a surprise for me . Although she was not in the habit of borrowing , she had asked for a cup of milk from one of the neighbors , a piece of butter from another , and when I got home about midday she was emptying the flour into a big earthenware bowl . `` Oh , '' I said , going up to her , `` flour ? '' `` Why , yes , '' she said , smiling , `` it 's flour , my little Remi , beautiful flour . See what lovely flakes it makes . ''