ky and
said, "Your wish has come true." At least, he had been wishing that he
had something fit to eat, having become dissatisfied with himself as a
cook. His period of due consideration did not take long; he again
picked up his hat, and after a momentary pause in this vestry or
anteroom of the scene he made his entrance.

Janet, having done the last possible thing to the supper, stood her
ground bravely as he issued from the trench and marched upon her camp;
for so it seemed to her, so conscious she was of swinging thighs and
formidable front as he advanced. He hung his sombrero on a nail at the
corner of the shack, apologized for his delay, and stood with his arms
folded, awaiting her orders.

"Sit right down, Mr. Brown," she said, indicating his place and smiling
as best she could. She seated herself on the grass opposite.

"It is very fine weather we are having, Mr. Brown," she remarked.

"Yes; it was a fine day. Nice and bright; but a little chilly."

"It looks as if it might stay this way," she added.

"Yes--I think it will. Hope it will anyway. But you can't tell."

The last remark had the effect of bringing their beginning to an
end--as if this pliable subject had broken off in too strong hands.

While she poured the coffee, he served the meat, which she had put at
his place; and when he saw her take up his well-filled cup he lifted
her plate at the same moment and passed it to her, giving and receiving
together. In the midst of this exchange, Janet (probably owing to the
ceremonious way in which he did it) suddenly saw into the little
formality as if a strange new light had been shed upon it; and
instantly she felt that if she had it to do again she would not set the
table in this husband-and-wife way. She was smitten with
self-consciousness; and thinking it over it seemed strange that she,
who was so anxious to avoid all suggestion of intimacy, could have
arranged such a token between them and not have been aware of it. In
that all-silent place the act was like words--as if mere Things had
spoken out loud.

"That is a pretty bouquet you have," he remarked.

The reference was to some spring flowers which she had plucked upon
arriving and used to fill up her cup of joy, the said cup being one of
Mr. Brown's.

"Yes; I thought they were very sweet. In looks, I mean. Especially
that blue kind." Then suddenly, as the thought struck her, "But you
see so _many_ of them!"

For a moment he lo