"Yes," he said with forced resignation,
"something of that sort."

"Seein' what there was to eat, I guess."

"You guess right. You said you had an errand, I think."

"Did I? Well, I come to see if I couldn't . . . What's that stuff?
Cake?"

She rose, picked up a slice of the dry cake, broke it between her
fingers, smelled of it, and replaced it on the plate.

"'Tis cake, ain't it?" she observed; "or it was, sometime or other. Who
made it? You?"

"No."

"Oh, your boss, Mr.--er--Atkins, hey?"

"Yes. Considering that there are only two of us here, and I didn't make
it, it would seem pretty certain that he must have."

"Yes, I guess that's right; unless 'twas some that washed ashore from
Noah's Ark, and it's too dry for that. What on earth are these?" picking
up one of the molasses cookies; "stove lids?"

Brown grinned, in spite of his annoyance.

"Those are supposed to be cookies," he admitted.

"Are they? Yes, yes. Mr. Atkins responsible for them?"

"No--o. I'm afraid those are one of my experiments, under Mr. Atkins's
directions and orders. I'm rather proud of those cookies, myself."

"You'd ought to be. There, there!" with a smile, "I guess you think I'm
pretty free with my criticism and remarks, don't you? You must excuse
me. Housekeepin'--'specially the cookin' part--is my hobby, as you might
say, and I was interested to see how a couple of men got along with the
job. I mustn't set around and keep you from your work. You might want to
make some more cookies, or somethin'."

The substitute assistant laughed aloud. "I wasn't thinking of it," he
said; "but I shall be glad to make the attempt if it would afford you
amusement."

Mrs. Bascom laughed, too. "I guess you're better natured than I thought
you was," she observed. "It might amuse me some, I will admit, but I
ain't got the time. I came to borrow some butter, if you've got any to
spare. Down here we're as far from supplies as the feller that run the
Ark I was mentionin', old Noah himself."

Brown took the bowl from her hands and went to the pantry to get the
butter. When he turned again she was standing by the door, one hand
hidden beneath her apron. She took the bowl with the other.

"Much obliged," she said. "I'll fetch this back soon's the grocery cart
comes. Miss Graham made arrangements to have him drive across every
Saturday. Or, rather, I arranged for it myself. Her head's too full of
paintin' and scenery to think of much else. I tell