When John came home that night Elizabeth told him of Silas’s visit.
“He hardly looked at baby at all,” she said disappointedly, “and I’d counted on his cunning ways with it more than anybody’s. I thought he’d be real pleased with it, and instead of that, he didn’t seem interested in it at all, and sat and stared at me and talked about Sadie. I thought sure he’d want to hold it—he’s got such cute ways.”
“How could you expect an old fellow like him to care for babies?” John said, smiling at the thought of it. “A man has to experience such things to know what they mean.”
He took the child from her arms and sat down to rock it while he waited for the supper to be put on the table.
“Say,” he began, “I saw Hepsie setting the sponge for to-morrow’s bread as I came through the kitchen. I’ll take care of baby, and you go and see about it. The bread hasn’t been up to standard since you’ve been sick. You’ll have to look after things a little closer now that you are up again.”
Elizabeth, whose back was not strong, had been sitting on the lounge, and now dropped into a reclining position as she replied:
“The bread has not been bad, John. Aunt Susan was always marvelling at how good it was compared to the usual hired girl’s bread.”
“It was pretty badly burned last time,” John observed dryly.
“That didn’t happen in the sponge, dear, and anybody burns the bread sometimes,” she returned; “besides that, it makes my back ache to stir things these days.”
John Hunter did not reply, but every line of him showed his displeasure. It was not possible to go on talking about anything else while he was annoyed, and the girl began to feel she was not only lazy but easily irritated about a very small thing. Reflecting that her back would quit hurting if she rested afterward, she arose from the lounge and dragged herself to the kitchen, where she stirred the heavy sponge batter as she was bidden.