The junket “set” and the cream whipped in spite of the anxiety of Mrs. Bryant, and at ten minutes to five both were on the ice, and the cherries were on a plate with a fork near by to place them on their setting of whipped cream at the proper moment.
“You had better go and get ready yourself now,” said Joyce smiling, as she lifted the potatoes and poured them through the colander, setting them to steam dry for a moment before creaming them. “I’ll see to the peas, and the ham is just perfect. I’ll have it all on the platter ready to take in and keep it hot. You don’t happen to have a white apron you could lend me, do you? That is, if you want me to wait on the table.”
“Oh, will you? I’d be so glad. I’m always nervous with city folks. Yes, I’ve got an apron. I’ll throw it down the back stairs. And I’ll just run up and change now, and smooth my hair. It won’t take a minute. They ought to be here any time now. I’m real relieved. I think things are going to be all right. If you have time you might cut the cake.”
Joyce, wearied almost to the limit, yet interested in what she was doing and eager to serve one who had so served her, turned back and put all the last little touches on the table that she well knew how to put, smoothed her own pretty hair as well as she could with only the tiny comb with which her handbag was fitted, washed her face and hands at the sink, and took off the big gingham apron Mrs. Bryant had loaned, to replace it with the white one that presently fluttered down the back stairs. She giggled to herself to think what a change had come over her life in twenty-four hours. Here she was at almost the same hour getting supper in another kitchen for an entirely different set of people, utter strangers. How strange and interesting! How wonderful to have the opportunity to thus work her way into a bit of land for her house! How kind of the Heavenly Father to fix it all for her! How good it was that she could cook, and had the ability to help in this time of need!
But there was no time to meditate. The kitchen clock was striking with a business-like clang, and the honk of an automobile horn could be heard coming down the street. Mrs. Bryant rustled down in a gray crêpe dress and her hair fluffed up becomingly. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks wore a pretty little touch of nervous color as she looked out the door.
“I think they are coming!” she said eagerly, and then Joyce glancing out behind her saw looming clumsily in the distance, blocking up the street and grown to most enormous proportions, her little vine clad office riding down behind the bright little car that was speeding rapidly toward the Bryant gate.
“Oh, Mrs. Bryant!” breathed Joyce in alarm, “My house is coming too, and you haven’t told me where to put it yet!”
“Your house?” said the preoccupied lady half impatiently, “Oh, yes. Why, put it anywhere you like for tonight. Just don’t get into the garden. You won’t have to go out and see to it, will you? Because I can’t spare you now.”
“Only for a second,” said Joyce happily. “I’ve got to pay the men.”
“Well, wait till the meat is on the table and everything passed. Don’t forget the coffee. There they are. Now I must go.”