"Yes, if you'll please help yourself," she answered, curtly, turning back to her work. "I am--engaged."
"I see. A congenial task?"
"Very!" Charlotte's tone was expressive.
"Did I gather that the fowl's windpipe was the special cause of your distress?" asked the even voice again.
Charlotte faced round once more.
"Doctor Churchill," she said, "I never cleaned a chicken in my life. I don't know what I'm doing at all, only that I've been doing it for almost an hour, and it isn't done. I presume it's because I take so much time washing my hands."
She smiled in spite of herself as the doctor's hearty laugh filled the little kitchen.
"I think I can appreciate your feelings," he remarked.
He walked over to the table. "Get a good hold on the offending windpipe, shut your eyes and pull."
"I'm afraid of doing something wrong."