creens or not, she felt the house would be the better
for quantities of fresh air. She closed the door softly and went down
the narrow little passage into the kitchen.

She found a bowl of nice-looking eggs in the pantry and a piece of
home-cured bacon neatly sewed into a white muslin bag and partly
sliced. This, with slices of golden brown toast--the bread box held
only half a loaf of decidedly stale bread--solved her breakfast menu.
There were two pans of milk standing on the table, thick with yellow
cream, and Betty was just wondering if Bob had milked and when, for
the cream could not have risen under two or three hours' time, when
the boy came whistling cheerfully in, carrying a pail of foaming
milk.

"Sh!" warned Betty. "Don't wake your aunts up. When did you milk,
Bob? You can't have done it twice in one morning."

"Well hardly," admitted Bob, lowering his voice discreetly. "I went
out last night after I was sure you were asleep. I knew the cows had
to be milked and that you'd probably insist on staying out there if
you went to sleep standing up. So I took a lantern I found under the
bench on the back porch and went out about an hour after you went to
bed. Gee, fried eggs and bacon! You're a good cook, Betsey!"

Betty had spread one end of the table with a clean brown linen cloth,
and now, after Bob had washed his hands and she had strained the
milk, she placed the smoking hot dishes before him, and they
proceeded to enjoy the meal heartily.

"I wonder if the fire is out," said Betty anxiously. "Perhaps Doctor
Morrison will know when he comes. What are you going to do now, Bob?"

"You tell me what will help you," answered Bob. "I suppose you have
to cook breakfast for the aunts--doesn't that sound funny? I thought
I'd kind of hang around the house--you might want furniture moved or
something like that--till you had 'em all fixed comfy, and then you
could go out to the barn with me while I finished out there. It's
lonesome in a new place."

"Sometimes I think," announced Betty, stopping with the frying pan in
her hand and beaming upon Bob, "that you have more sense than any one
I ever knew. You needn't do a thing, if you'll just wait for me.
There's a pile of old magazines in the parlor. You can read the
stories in those."

Leaving Bob comfortably established in a padded rocking chair, she
went in to see if either of her patients was awake. Both were, as it
happened, and though they looked slightly bewil