Swan's
housekeeping qualities made her ashamed of her own imperfections; and
when, thinking that Swan must be hungry and that the least she could do
was to set out food for him, she opened the cupboard, she had a swift,
embarrassed vision of her own culinary imperfections. She could cook
better food than her dad had been content to eat and to set before
others, but Swan's bread was a triumph in sour dough. Biscuits tall and
light as bread can be she found, covered neatly with a cloth. Prunes
stewed so that there was not one single wrinkle in them--Lorraine could
scarcely believe they were prunes until she tasted them. She was
investigating a pot of beans when Swan came in.
"Food I am thinking of, Miss," he grinned at her. "We shall hurry, but
it is not good to go hungry. Milk is outside in a cupboard. It is
quicker than to make coffee."
"It will be dark before we can get him home," said Lorraine uneasily.
"And by the time a doctor can get out there----"
"A doctor will be there, I think. You don't believe, but that is no
difference to his coming just the same."
He brought the milk, poured off the creamy top into a pitcher, stirred
it, and quietly insisted that she drink two glasses.
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