"I've seen worse places. Now, it's about five o'clock and I'll give you some breakfast, and dress your arms. Then, if you feel comfortable, I'll take a nap myself."
"To be sure. And are you going to stay all day?" wistfully.
"Of course, and to-morrow too, perhaps."
She folded her work in deft fashion, putting thimble and thread away in a bag which, in time, became something of a marvel to Gus, who declared a man never wanted anything but she'd find it in that bag; then went about preparing breakfast, and soon Gus was sipping what seemed like nectar to the poor fellow, who was used to decoctions that might have a name, but neither looked nor tasted like any known drink.
"Well, that is coffee!" he cried gratefully. "Say, Mrs.——"
"Keep," she interposed quietly.
"Mrs. Keep, I don't like to be prying, but—but, you understand, I'm poor? I can't pay much, and you're way up in your business, I see. Perhaps——"
She smiled in motherly fashion.
"Don't bother your head about that. I am paid, and well paid. You are simply to take things as they come, and hurry to get well. I'm glad to see you can eat."
"Eat? It would be a queer man that couldn't with such a breakfast before him! I guess some fairy must have blessed my cradle when I was born. I never knew, before, I was heir to good luck. Well, there might be worse things than burned hands. Now do me up in fresh rags, Mother Keep, and you shall have as long a nap as you like. I won't even sneeze if you say not."