s, sir, thank you," answered Zephania, politely. "Wouldn't you rather
have the eggs poached?"

"Er--why, yes, if you can do it."

"I can cook eggs eleven ways," said Zephania, proudly. "Are you going to
eat breakfast in here or in there?" She nodded past Wade at the
sitting-room.

"Well, what do you think?"

"It's sunnier in there, sir. I could just clear the end of that table.
There's a fine big tray, sir."

"An excellent idea," replied Wade. "I place myself--and my house--in
your hands, Zephania."

"Thank you, sir," said Zephania.

Breakfast was prepared that morning to the strains of "Jesus, Lover of
My Soul." Wade went out to the kitchen presently to wash hands and face
at the sink and dry them on a roller towel, which Zephania whisked
before him as if by magic. Watching her for a minute or two dispelled
all doubts as to her ability. The way in which she broke the eggs and
slipped them into the boiling water was a revelation of dexterity. And
all the while she sang on uninterruptedly, joyously, like the
gray-breast on the hedge. Wade went out into the garden and breathed in
deep breaths of the cool, moist air. The grass and the shrubs were heavy
with dew and the morning world was redolent of the perfume exhaled from
moist earth and growing things. In the neglected orchard the birds were
chattering and piping, and from a nearby field came the excited cawing
of crows. It was corn-planting time.

Wade ate his breakfast by the open window. He didn't know in which of
the three ways Zephania had prepared his coffee, but it was excellent,
and even the condensed milk couldn't spoil it. The eggs were snowy
cushions of delight on golden tablets of toast, and the butter was hued
like old ivory. Zephania objected to condensed milk, however, and
suggested that she be allowed to bring a quart of "real milk" with her
when she came in the mornings.

"Of course, you won't need a whole quart, unless you drink it, but, if
you like cream in your coffee, it'll be a great deal heavier from a
quart than from a pint. We get six cents for milk."

"By all means, let us have a quart," replied Wade, recklessly. "Such
good coffee as this, Zephania, deserves the best cream to be had."
Zephania blushed with pleasure and beamed down upon him radiantly.

"And maybe, sir, you'd like me to make you some bread?"

"I would. I was about to broach the subject," was the mendacious answer.
"Could you do it?"

"Yes, indeed. Why, when they h