e so."

"I'd stay to lunch if anybody would ask me three times," announced Phil,
presently. "I have to have my welcome assured."

"I'll ask you if Mary is willing," said Joyce, who had gone back to her
work. "She has promised to be chef to-day."

Mary regarded him doubtfully, as if weighing the matter, then said, "I'm
willing if he'll promise not to mention what happened this morning
another single time. And he can order any two dishes in the cook-book
that can be prepared in an hour, and I'll make them; that is, of course,
if the materials are in the house."

"Then I choose doughnuts," was the ready answer. "Doughnuts with holes
in them and sugar sprinkled over the top, and light as a feather; the
kind you used to keep in a yellow bowl with a white stripe around it, on
the middle shelf in the Wigwam pantry. Gee! But they were good! I've
never come across any like them since except in my dreams. And for the
second choice--let me see!" He pursed up his lips reflectively. "I
believe I'd like that to be a surprise, so Mistress-Mary-quite-contrary,
you may choose that yourself."

"All right," she assented. "But if it is to be a surprise I must have a
clear coast till everything is ready."

Arrayed in a long apron of Joyce's, Mary stood a moment considering the
resources of refrigerator and pantry. There were oysters on the ice. An
oyster stew would make a fine beginning this cold day. There was a
chicken simmering in the fireless cooker. Joyce had put it on while they
were getting breakfast, intending to make some sort of boneless
concoction of it for dinner. But it would be tender enough by the time
she was ready for it, to make into a chicken-pie. In the days when Phil
had been a daily guest at the Wigwam, chicken-pie was his favourite
dish. That should be the surprise for him.

It was queer how all his little preferences and prejudices came back to
her as she set about getting lunch. He preferred his lemon cut in
triangles instead of slices, and he liked the cauliflower in mixed
pickles, but not the tiny white onions, and he wanted his fried eggs
hard and his boiled eggs soft. But then, after all, it wasn't so queer
that she should remember these things, she thought, for the likes and
dislikes of a frequent guest would naturally make an impression on an
observant child who took part in all the household work. It was just the
same with other people. She'd never forget if she lived to be a hundred
how Holland put s