een all night in the ashes on the hearth, the right
"finish" being given in the brick oven as it gradually cooled off.

The girl had had wonderfully good luck with her baking. The bread was
neither "all crust" nor was it dough in the middle. The pies were flaky
as to crust and the apples which filled them were tender.

When Lyddy brought in the beanpot, wrapped in a blue and white towel to
retain the heat, she met Harris Colesworth for the first time. To her
surprise he did not attempt to appear amazed to see her.

"Miss Bray!" he cried, coming forward to shake hands with her. "I have
been telling your father that we are already acquainted. But I never _did_
expect to see you again when you sold out and went away from Trimble
Avenue that morning."

"Shows how small the world is," said Mr. Bray, smiling. "We lived
right beside the building in which Mr. Colesworth works, and he saw
our advertisement in the paper----"

"Oh, I was sure it was Miss Bray," interrupted young Colesworth, openly
acknowledging his uncalled-for interest (so Lyddy expressed it to herself)
in their affairs.

"You see," said this very frank young man, "I knew your name was Bray.
And I knew you were going into the country for Mr. Bray's health. I--I
even asked at the hospital about you several times," he added, flushing
a little.

"How very kind!" murmured Lyddy, but without looking at him, as 'Phemie
brought in some of the other dishes.

"Not at all; I was interested," said the young man, laughing. "You always
were afraid of getting acquainted with me when I used to watch you working
about your kitchen. But now, Miss Bray, if father decides to come out
here to board with you, you'll just _have_ to be acquainted with me."

Mr. Bray laughed at this, and 'Phemie giggled. Lyddy's face was a study.
It did seem impossible to keep this very presuming young man at a proper
distance.

But they gathered around the table then, and Lyddy had another reason for
blushing. The visitors praised her cooking highly, and when they learned
of the old-fashioned means by which the cooking was done, their wonder
grew.

And Lyddy deserved some praise, that was sure. The potatoes came out of
their crisp skins as light as feathers. The thickened pork gravy that
went with them was something Mr. Colesworth the elder declared he had
not tasted since he was a boy.

And when the beans were ladled from the pot--brown, moist, every bean
firm in its individual jacket,