“I wish the big brute would take his beast along,” growled Mr. Alexander Herron.
“Come, Bel,” ordered the Girl. “Let's go to the kitchen.”
The dog instantly arose and followed her.
“What can I do to help?” she asked as they reached the door.
“Remain where you won't dazzle my eyes,” said the Harvester, “until I help the gentle lady and the gentle man to bed.”
Presently he came with a white cloth, two spoons, and a plate of bread. He spread the cloth on the table, laid the spoons on it, and opening the little cupboard, took out a long toasting fork, and sticking it into a slice of bread, he held it over the coals. When it grew golden brown he lifted the table beside the chair, and brought a bowl of scalded milk.
“Marcella, that stuff will be too smoky for you! Your stomach will rebel at it.”
“Grandfather, there will not be a suspicion of odour,” said the Girl. “I have had it that way often.”
“Then no wonder you came from this place looking like a picked crane, if that is a sample of what you were fed on!”
The face of the Harvester grew redder than the heat of the fire necessitated, but at the ringing laugh of the Girl he set his teeth and went on toasting bread. Grandmother crumbled some in the milk and picking up the spoon tested the combination. She was very hungry, and it was good. She began eating with relish.