“You, a cook?” she smiled. "Why, you wouldn’t wash a dish at home for me when we were children. You can’t be very much of a cook.... But never mind. I have found you."
“Confound it! I have let those beans burn again.” And he excused himself for a moment.
When he returned he said, “I will write you if I can decide to go back home. It comes a little suddenly you know. I have been a prodigal too long to turn into a father’s white-haired boy on the instant.”
Then after a moment he asked: “Do you know what Mother used to put into the beans when she burned them to take out the smoky taste?”
“Jim, Mother wasn’t that kind of a cook.”
As the sister was going out to step into the carriage she said, “Promise me you will not leave here without writing me. I don’t want to lose you again.”
“I promise,” he said.
That night the boys ate their supper in silence. Each one was deep in thought.
“Too bad the beans are burned,” Jim said.