Indeed, it was not much longer than that; but when he came in again, his face shining from a vigorous rubbing, supper was almost ready—an egg fried to a turn, with a bit of broiled ham beside it, bread and butter, blackberry jam, a glass of milk, and a piece of apple-pie—just the sort of toothsome, topsy-turvy meal a healthy boy likes.
“Mary,” he said, “you’re a jewel!” and he stopped to hug her before he sat down.
“None o’ yer blarney!” she retorted, and affected to push him away, as she gave the last touches to the table.
Allan pulled up his chair and fell to with an appetite born of health and good digestion—an appetite unspoiled by over-indulgence, or by French confections, requiring no stimulus but that which work honestly done gave it. He ate with one eye on the clock, for he was not going to run any risk of missing his train, and at the end of five minutes, pushed back his chair and rose with a sigh of satisfaction.
“That was great!” he said. “Now if I may have one of those luscious doughnuts of yours, or a piece of that pie, to keep the wolf from the door to-night—”
“Doughnut, indade!” cried Mary. “What do you suppose I’ve been doin’ all this toime! Here’s your lunch,” and she set on the table a little basket, covered with a snowy napkin.
Allan’s eyes were shining at this new proof of her thoughtfulness for him.
“Mary,” he began.
“There, there,” she interrupted; “git along or you’ll miss your train. Good-bye. An’ take good keer o’ yerself, my dear.”