g to have three!); light the silver
candlesticks in the centre of the table; go in and bring mamma out in
style; see if the fire needs coal; and I'll be ready by that time."

"I can never remember, but I fly! Oh, what an excellent slave-driver
was spoiled in you!" said Edgar.

The simple dinner was delicious, and such a welcome change from the
long boarding-house table at which Edgar had eaten for over a year.
The candles gave a soft light; there was a bowl of yellow flowers
underneath them. Mrs. Oliver looked like an elderly Dresden-china
shepherdess in her pale blue wrapper, and Polly did n't suffer from the
brown gingham, with its wide collar and cuffs of buff embroidery, and
its quaint full sleeves. She had burned two small blisters on her
wrist: they were scarcely visible to the naked eye, but she succeeded
in obtaining as much sympathy for them as if they had been mortal
wounds. Her mother murmured 'Poor darling wrist' and 'kissed the place
to make it well.' Edgar found a bit of thin cambric and bound up the
injured member with cooling flour, Mistress Polly looking demurely on,
thinking meanwhile how much safer he was with them than with the
objectionable Tony. After the lamb-chops and peas had been discussed,
Edgar insisted on changing the plates and putting on the tomato salad;
then Polly officiated at the next course, bringing in coffee, sliced
oranges, and delicious cake from the neighboring confectioner's.

"Can't I wash the dishes?" asked Edgar, when the feast was ended.

"They are not going to be washed, at least by us. This is a great
occasion, and the little girl downstairs is coming up to clear away the
dinner things."

Then there was the pleasant parlor again, and when the candles were
lighted in the old-fashioned mirror over the fireplace, everything wore
a festive appearance. The guitar was brought out, and Edgar sang
college songs till Mrs. Oliver grew so bright that she even hummed a
faint second from her cosy place on the sofa.

And then Polly must show Edgar how she had made Austin Dobson's
"Milkmaid Song" fit "Nelly Ely," and she must teach him the pretty
words.

"Across the grass,
I saw her pass,
She comes with tripping pace;
A maid I know,
And March winds blow
Her hair across her face.
Hey! Dolly! Ho! Dolly!
Dolly shall be mine,
Before the spray is white with May
Or blooms the eglantine."

By this time the bandage had com