At dinner John did not look at Elizabeth, though her eyes sought his constantly, and when the pie was passed around she remarked on its trimmed edges shamefacedly.
Silas Chamberlain wiped his knife on a piece of bread and slid it under the section nearest him.
“You never mind about them edges. It looks like a good pie t’ me, an’ John here will eat his share of it, I’ll warrant you. Th’ rest of this company can survive if he does. I just been a thinkin’ as I set here what a stunnin’ cook you’ve got t’ be in these ten months. I used t’ think you’d have a lot t’ learn after you was married, but you seem t’ ’a’ learned it short off—eh, John?”
John Hunter had to reply. “I’ve been sorry mother had to go away. Elizabeth’s done pretty well, but mother would have been a great help, with her fixed ways of doing things,” he said reluctantly.
Luther had been looking earnestly at John, but spared Elizabeth when he saw her confusion by looking quickly down at his plate and saying nothing.
“Don’t know’s Lizzie needs any help as far as doin’ things is concerned, though she may need more rest,” Silas returned; and Sadie took up the subject.
“I think my stove bakes a little better on the bottom,” she remarked critically.
“I low t’ taste your pies to-morrow if it don’t rain,” Silas answered her without looking up from the bite he was severing with the knife upon which it was to be conveyed to his mouth.
Luther Hansen’s laugh rang out heartily.
“Don’t,” he said, winking at Sadie. “She’ll be keepin’ me out of th’ field t’ fire th’ oven.”