"It isn't the way you must do while I'm here," responded Geraldine firmly. "You're tired out. Come and sit down with your son and let me wait on you while you rest."
"Don't that sound daughterly?" remarked Rufus exultantly. "Perhaps I didn't know how to pick out the right girl. What?" His mother, relieved by his returned complacence, became voluble with reassurances; and Geraldine, seeing that Rufus's hand was approaching her arm, hastily slid into her chair and he took the opposite place.
"Didn't I tell you we'd make up for the lunch that great porpoise cheated us out of yesterday?" he said in high good-humor.
Geraldine's desolate heart yearned after the kind friend so soon lost.
"That'll do, Ma. I guess the grub's all on the table. Go chase yourself. Miss Melody'll pour my coffee."
"Don't wash any of the dishes, Mrs. Carder, please, until I get out there," said Geraldine.
The old woman disappeared with one last glance at her son whom Geraldine eyed with sudden steadiness.
He smiled at her with semi-toothless fondness.
"Give me my coffee, little girl. I'm famished. Isn't this jolly—just you and me?"
Geraldine poured the coffee and handed him the cup; then she spoke impressively.