d up his sleeves, camp-cook fashion, the better
to mix and mold the biscuit he contemplated making; the sight of her
bare arms reminded him of his own and he hurriedly lowered the sleeves
and began fumbling at the buttons. She came forward quickly and checked
him with a pretty gesture.

"Put them up again! Men always work better with their sleeves rolled up,
I have noticed, and all good cooks have them so. That's why I am wearing
this waist; I am going to help." She looked complacently at her round,
dimpled arms, then at the corded brawn of his. An irresistible impulse
sent her close to his side. "Why," she said, with a fine assumption of
wonder at the portentous discovery, "my arms are tanned as brown as
yours." And she coquettishly held hers so close to his in comparison
that they momentarily touched.

Through his veins there leaped a sudden fire as though his blood had
turned to molten lava; he trembled. Stricken with a sudden terror she
shrank away slightly, but her eyes never left his. The man was trying
for self-control, and she wisely waited. The best time to play with fire
is not when the coals are hottest.

"You, too, hate to be thought afraid." It was hardly more than a
whisper. "And your arms are very beautiful." Holding her wrists very
carefully, yet with a grip of steel, he bent forward and deliberately
kissed each arm in the dimpling hollows. Then he gently released them,
and turned once more to his coffee grinding.

So wise a man as Solomon declared, centuries ago, that the way of a man
with a maid was beyond even his great understanding; but the composite
intelligence of all the wise men that ever were or ever will be created
cannot elucidate the greater mystery of the ways of a maid with a man.
By all accepted rules and conventions, Miss Carter should have
ostentatiously wiped her arms with a lace handkerchief, extravagantly
casting it aside later with an air of loathing and disgust, and stalked
out of the room with superior dignity without deigning him even a
contemptuous glance. She did nothing of the kind. She merely laughed, a
silvery, tinkling, infectious little ripple whose contagion was
irresistible, and at his responsive grin the atmosphere cleared
instantly.

Her eyes fell upon the basket of eggs and she had a sudden inspiration:
"I am going to make waffles. Now if we could only achieve the regulation
fried chicken to go with it we should dine ideally."

"There are two in the pantry, rea