“You are going to get my breakfast?” Elliott rose on one elbow in astonishment. “All alone?”
“Oh, yes!” said Priscilla. “Mother and Laura are making jelly, and shelling peas in between—to put up, you know—and Trudy is pitching hay, so they can’t. Will you have one egg or two? And do you like ’em hard-boiled or soft; or would you rather have ’em dropped on toast? And how long does it take you to dress?”
“One—soft-boiled, please. I’ll be down in half an hour.”
“Half an hour will give me lots of time.” The small face disappeared and the door closed softly.
Elliott rose breathlessly and looked at her watch. Half an hour! She must hurry. Priscilla would expect her. Priscilla had the look of expecting people to do what they said they would. And hereafter, of course, she must get up to breakfast. She wondered how Priscilla’s breakfast 39 would taste. Heavens, how these people worked!
As a matter of fact, Priscilla’s breakfast tasted delicious. The toast was done to a turn; the egg was of just the right softness; a saucer of fresh raspberries waited beside a pot of cream, and the whole was served on a little table in a corner of the veranda.
“Laura said you’d like it out here,” Priscilla announced anxiously. “Do you?”
“Very much indeed.”
“That’s all right, then. I’m going to have some berries and milk right opposite you. I always get hungry about this time in the forenoon.”
“When do you have breakfast, regular breakfast, I mean?”