"We ain't got any of those things," she declared.
"We ain't?" Her guest was pained. "What have we got?"
"We got ham and eggs and lettuce and milk and coffee and squash pie."
He sighed.
"They will do," he said resignedly. "Do you think you could have them ready in five minutes?"
The luncheon was a cheerful meal, for Laurie made it so. When it was finished he went to the kitchen window, opened it, and carefully arranged several hot ham sandwiches in a row.
"For the birdies," he explained. "For the cold little birdies out in the grounds."
He even chirped invitingly to the "birdies," but these latter, throughout his visit, showed a coy reluctance to approach the house. He caught another odd grimace on the features of the old woman, who was now washing the dishes.
"We won't confine you to any one room this afternoon," he told her. "Wander where your heart leads you. But remember, you're on parole. Like ourselves, you must forego all communication with the glad outer world. And leave the secretary where he is, unless you want him hurt."
"This storm will be a good thing for us," he mentioned to Doris, when they had returned to the up-stairs sitting-room. "It will be dark soon after four, and the snow will cover our footsteps. But I'm inclined to think," he added, reflectively, "that before we start I'd better go out and truss up those two birds in the grounds."