"I—I was gettin' a man to help with the work," Jake stammered. "He's here now."
"H'm," and Mrs. Jukes tossed her head. "I guess there wouldn't have been any need for a man to help with the work if the cows had been left much longer. Where did you come from, Empty?" and she turned toward the youth standing near Douglas.
"I was fishin'," the lad replied.
"Had your breakfast yet?"
"Naw."
"Well, come in, then, and have a bite. You've earned it all right this morning. Bring your help in, Jake. I guess there's enough for all."
Mrs. Jukes' anger soon passed, and by the time they reached the house she was in a more pleasant frame of mind. She was a bright, active little body, and Douglas won her friendship at once by the interest he took in her two children, a girl of six and a boy of three. While Mrs. Jukes was busy placing the breakfast upon the table, Douglas had the children on his knees, and was asking them their names and quizzing them about the things in which they were interested. Though very busy, Mrs. Jukes noticed this, and she felt greatly pleased at the attention the stranger paid to her offspring. She noted, as well, his refined face, his gentle manner, and the words he used, for Mrs. Jukes had been a school teacher before she married, and, according to her husband, she had "a great deal of larnin'." She knew enough, at least, to keep Jake in his place, and to make him attend strictly to his work, with the result that their farm was the best cultivated one in the community.
"You sit here, sir," she told Douglas, putting a chair in place. "I'm sorry there isn't more for breakfast. I didn't expect company this morning."
"Why, this is a meal fit for a king," Douglas replied. "It's been years since I've eaten pancakes, ham and gravy. And that bread looks good, too. Did you bake it yourself, Mrs. Jukes?"
"Oh, yes, I do all my own cooking. But that bread isn't as good as I generally make. We just opened a new barrel of flour, and it doesn't seem to be as good as the last we had."