bide left-overs hangin' 'round. But Miss S'briny says the supper
to-night's got to be extry nice and Miss Anne's got to have waffles and
_she'll_ cook 'em herself, seein' how old B'lindy that's cooked 'em
nigh onto fifty years, can't cook 'em _good_ 'nough for Miss Anne!"

Miss Sabrina's face was bent over the waffles--Nancy could not see it.
The moment was too solemn to permit her to so much as smile. She said
very gravely, almost reprovingly:

"You _know_, B'lindy, that you _can't_ make waffles as good as Aunt
Sabrina can and I've been hungry for days for waffles!"

Nancy knew that, after that night, waffles would always mean something
more to her than merely a concoction of food stuffs particularly dear
to her palate--they'd mean the momentary triumph of reason and justice,
the defeat of the Mrs. Eaton-kind, and the pitiful attempt of a very
old and a very proud woman to "give happiness."

CHAPTER XV

GUNS AND STRING BEANS

"Claire darling--

"Almost two weeks since I wrote to you. Will you love me any more?

"As I write I am all alone on the edge of a very little pool of light
reflected from my little lamp that was only intended to see me into bed
and not to burn half the night through while I write to my pal.

"Is this summer night as perfect where you are, Claire? (Tush--you've
probably been playing tennis and dancing and flirting until you are too
exhausted to care about anything except the breakfast bell disturbing
you.) But up here it's _wonderful_! The sky is blue-black velvet, all
studded with stars that seem suspended--they are so very close. And
the air just caresses you! And there are the sweetest smells, grassy
and earthy and all fragrant of roses. There are queer little noises,
too--as though the night was full of fairy creatures. And I heard a
whip-or-will! And a screech-owl, way, way off.

"Since I wrote to you last I have 'put my foot in it' again! Terribly!
It's too long a story to write to you--there isn't nearly oil enough
for that--but I skated over the thin ice and reached safety--in other
words, I am still here! And, Nancy, I know, now, even Aunt Sabrina is
beginning to like me! Do you know why? Because I lost my head and
told her what I thought was the matter with her and Happy House and I
don't suppose anyone _dared_ to tell her that before. (I called her
Leavitt traditions tommy-rot.) And I think she _enjoyed_ the
sensation! Anyway, she seems to treat me now