Priscilla was already in her high chair demanding food. At the
back of the room, on the long table once used for tools and tubes,
Agnes was busy with a coal-oil stove and Nancy's copper blazer. A
heartening aroma of fresh coffee was mingling with other good
odours from that region.




Chapter Thirty-seven


Contentedly, the Bradleys dined. Bert served scrambled eggs and
canned macaroni to the ravenous children--a meal that was
supplemented by a cold roast fowl from the Rose's, a sheet of
rolls brought at the last moment by the Fieldings' man, sweet
butter and peach ice-cream from the Seward Smiths, and a tray of
various delicacies from the concerned and sympathetic Ingrams.
Every one was hungry and excited, and more than once the boys made
their father shout with laughter. They were amusing kids, his
indulgent look said to his wife.

At the conclusion of the meal little Anne went around the table,
and got into her father's lap.

"'Member I used to do this when I was just a little girl?" Anne
asked, happily. Nancy and Bert looked for a second at each other
over the relaxed little head. It was almost dark now, Priscilla
was silent in her mother's arms, even the boys were quiet. Bert
smoked, and Nancy spoke now and then to the sleepy baby.