"How glad we ought to be for the privilege of reading Mrs. Hayden's letters," said Grace, thoughtfully, as she smoothed her hair and washed her hands.
"Yes, and what a goose I was about it," Kate replied. "I would scarcely take the chance when it was offered, and if it had been any one but Mrs. Hayden, I do believe I should have refused point blank."
"We know so little what is right when we judge in the old way," said Grace. "Now, if I actually hadn't seen that woman cured, and known positively how she was before, nothing would have induced me to spend my time on this, although, from the first, I rather liked the theory."
"Where is my gingham apron?" called Kate, looking in the dark closet where she had hung it.
"Kate, I'm thoroughly reformed, as you will know when I tell you I am perfectly willing to perform the culinary duties to-night, and I will be the cook while you discourse some music for my edification," laughed Grace, as she emerged from the studio with her sleeves rolled back, and the lost apron pinned around her.
"What!" cried Kate, holding up both hands with a mock-tragic air. "Do you really mean it?"
"Of course, and I will show you what a talent I have for poaching eggs and making toast."
The girls were in the habit of dividing their work according to their personal tastes. Kate liked to prepare dainty meals and wash dishes, while Grace preferred to sweep and dust, and arrange things to suit her artistic eye. Each disliked the other's part of the work, so they were well content to have it so divided.
"Go on, now," ordered Grace, "and play for me. I want some music; but, first of all, tell me where the eggs are, and how long should they boil?"
"The eggs are in the tin pail on the third shelf in the closet. They should boil till they are a pretty blue white."