d
face. "Any town should consider it a great privilege to have such
an institution within its borders. Mrs. Milworth--or June Holiday,
as she preferred to be called--was a wonderful woman. I am glad to
be in a position to help in the carrying-out of her plans."

Miss Sterling smiled a little queerly. Polly opened her lips, then
shut them tight, and finally announced quite irrelevantly that she
was hungry.

One of Mrs. Dudley's prettiest tablecloths was spread on a little
piney level close to the brook, and Polly set out the paper plates
and cups and the boxes of food.

"Which do you like best, Mr. Randolph, coffee or chocolate?" Polly
queried anxiously.

"I will answer as a little boy of my acquaintance did,--'Whichever
you have the most of.'"

"Well, you see, we have only one, and I do hope you don't like
coffee best."

"I don't!" he declared. "I always drink chocolate when I can get
it."

"I'm glad I brought it, then!" cried Polly. "You cut the cake,
please, Miss Nita. I'm afraid I couldn't do it straight."

The little feast was ready at last, appetites were found to be of
the keenest sort, and everything went merrily.

"I have never had the pleasure of a meal at the Home,"--Mr.
Randolph was eating a Banbury turnover with plain enjoyment. "I
suppose you ladies are treated to this sort of thing every day."

"We have a pretty good cook," answered Miss Sterling discreetly;
"but these pies are of Mrs. Dudley's make. Polly brought the
lunch."

"Oh!" The man's eyebrows raised themselves a little. "Then I
should say, Mrs. Dudley is an excellent Banbury pie-ist."

"I shall have to tell her that," laughed Polly. "It will please
her very much."

"Nothing delights a woman more than to have her cooking praised,"
laughed Mrs. Albright.

"I learned that years ago." Mr. Randolph smiled reminiscently.
"When I was first married, I think I must have been a rather
notional man to cook for. My wife seldom did much in the kitchen,
but one day she made a salad. As it did not exactly appeal to my
appetite, after one taste I remarked that I was not very hungry.
To my dismay she burst into tears. It was her favorite salad, and
she had made it with unusual care, never dreaming that I would not
like it as well as she did. Ever afterwards I ate the whole bill
of fare straight through."

"It sometimes takes courage to do that," smiled Mrs. Albright. "I
hope you had a good cook. How much people think of eati