"Child! You haven't had any supper!" Miss Berry sprang to her feet with astonishing celerity, her plumpness considered.
The guest also rose. "Yes I have, but I want a cookie."
"Then I'll get it for you."
"No, no; that would spoil everything." Page took his hostess by her plump, comfortable arms and forced her back into her seat.
"There ain't a bit o' light in there," remarked Miss Berry resignedly.
"That was the condition of things when my aim for the cookies used to be most unerring," returned the visitor, disappearing into the house.
He returned shortly, carrying in one hand a cookie which already had lost from its side a generous semicircle, and in the other a round, deep tin box which he placed at an impartial distance between his own chair and Miss Lovina's.
"Those are not my usual cookies," stated the latter, meditatively regarding the box as her guest settled himself with a sigh of content.
Page smiled. "That's all right," he answered. "You know they never were."
"Now I deny it, Gorham Page," rejoined Miss Berry warmly. "I was never one to make excuses all the time, and you can't say I was; not truthfully you can't."