rong and fragrant.

"He's very particular about it, Miss, an' he buys his own brand."

Then Molly set the tray. Mrs. Brady's best white linen cover she
snatched from the shelf without asking leave. In a twinkling she had
polished and heated the blue china dishes, placed the breakfast on them
and covered them tight with hot soup plates, since there were no other
covers. Then she snipped off the top of a red geranium blooming in the
window sill and dropped it into a finger bowl.

"Lord love ye, Miss, but that's a beautiful tray," exclaimed Mrs. Brady,
hypnotized by Molly's swift movements and skillful workmanship. "If I
did not know ye wuz a lady from your looks I should say ye wuz a born
cook. But Mrs. Murphy be afther tellin' me how you used to make things
in her kitchen. Ye must be the same one, since it's red hair and blue
eyes ye have----"

Molly had disappeared into the pantry to replace the flour sifter while
Mrs. Brady was holding forth, and now through a crack in the pantry door
she saw the kitchen door open and Professor Green, in a long dressing
gown, stalk in.

"Don't bother about breakfast for me, Mrs. Brady," he said. "A cup of
coffee quite strong--stronger than you usually make it, please--that's
all I want."

Mrs. Brady, glancing at Molly hidden in the pantry, saw her shake her
head and place a finger on her lips.

The Irish woman smiled broadly. It was a situation in which she saw many
humorous possibilities and an amusing story to tell over the tea cups to
Mrs. Murphy and Mrs. O'Reilly.

"Shure an' ye needn't eat it, sir," she said, in an injured tone, "but
it's all prepared an' of the very best."

The Professor glanced at the tray.

"Why," he exclaimed, in amazement, "this is something really fine, Mrs.
Brady. I didn't know you were getting up a holiday breakfast."

Visions of slopped-over trays, weak coffee and hard toast passed before
him, for Mrs. Brady was not a cook to boast of.

"I'll eat it down here, if you've no objection," he continued kindly,
lifting the covers and glancing curiously underneath. "By Jove, this is
something like. Omelet, and what are those luscious looking things?"

"They be pop-overs, sir, if I'm not misthaken."

"Pop-overs, ahem! I've heard the name before." He sniffed the small
coffee pot. "Good and strong; you've anticipated my wants this morning,
Mrs. Brady."

"Why doesn't he go on and eat?" thought the red-haired cook. "The omelet
will be ruined."

B