"I don't think I am, very. I ate a very good supper on the train, you know."
"I'm glad you call that a good supper. I guess I could wrap up the amount you ate in a postage stamp."
"Well," she said with a smile, "you may be glad to learn that I haven't a very large appetite."
"I have, then. Where's the loaf we got in Winnipeg this afternoon?"
"I'll get it."
"And the butter. You'll bake to-morrow, I reckon."
"You're a brave man—unless you've forgotten my first attempt at Eddie's," she said with a laugh as she took the loaf and butter from the bag.
For some reason her mood had completely changed. All her confidence in being perfectly able to take care of herself had returned. She had been frightened, badly frightened a moment ago at nothing. Nerves, nothing more. Nerves were queer things. It was because she hadn't slept last night. She was such a good sleeper naturally that a wakeful night affected her more than it did most people. The cool night air had completely restored her.
She hunted about until she found a knife, and with the loaf in one hand and the knife poised in the air asked:
"Shall I cut you some?"