Mrs. Sherwood
called it, was kept up, and the harmless sport did much to induce the sick
man to eat, and thus kept up his strength. Dexie was glad to find that her
mother had left the room when she returned with a covered tray. Setting it
on one side, she raised her father and settled his pillows, placed the
invalid's table across the couch, set the tray thereon, then whipped off
the napkin that covered the dishes.

"Now, papa, what do you think of that for a cup and saucer?"

"Is that a cup and saucer, Dexie? Well, you might call it anything else and
not be far astray, I fancy. I'll have to ask, like the little nigger in
'Dred,' 'Which be de handle, and which am de spout?'" and he looked at the
cup with interest.

"Why, that is the beauty of it. You can't make a mistake! If you take it
this way, why, _this_ is the handle and _that_ the spout. If you prefer it
end for end, why--there, you have it! I saw it down in the store, and
thought it would be just the thing to drink out of. Try and see how nice it
is. Not a drop spills out, you see, even when you are lying down. When you
get tired of it as a cup, then I'll call it a fancy vase, and set it on the
mantel for flowers. Handy thing, isn't it? useful or ornamental, just as
you like."

Her father set the cup on the table and laughed pleasantly.

"Now, papa," she added, "you will need your Yankee guessing cap to-night,
for I have something very nice. What is it?" holding up a dish.

"Well, sure enough, what can it be? It smells like chicken, but there is
also a suggestion of oysters. There!--I give it up, Dexie."

"That's right, for I do not know the name of it myself. I saw how to
prepare it in a book, but the name is beyond me. There is no English word
to express how nice this tastes, so you must eat in French to-night, papa,"
sitting beside him to assist. "The little book tells how to prepare some
lovely little stews and dishes, and I am going to make some of them for
you. But don't be alarmed, papa! I'll try all the new inventions on myself
first--to see if they are safe, you know! But, between you and me, papa,
the author of the little cook book is a fraud! Some of the dishes are
quite plebeian. He goes on to say how to prepare some toast, so-and-so,
some milk and butter, or cream, so-and-so, put this and that in it, then
you dish it up and call it--oh! I can't say _what_ he calls it; but, if you
will believe me, it is just 'cream toast,' and nothing else, dis