"Eat something," commanded the Angel.
The Girl obeyed. The coffee was weak and muddy and delightful; the biscuits were yellow and lumpy and delicious; the eggs were eggs. The Angel sat opposite and watched the Girl as she ate.
"Husband beat you?" she demanded suddenly.
The Girl blushed and choked.
"No," she hastened to say. "I have no husband."
"Well, there ain't no serious trouble in this world till you marry a man that beats you," said the Angel judicially. It was the final word.
The Girl didn't answer, and, in view of the fact that she had sufficient data at hand to argue the point, this repression required heroism. Perhaps she will never get credit for it. She finished the breakfast in silence and leaned back with some measure of returning content in her soul.
"In a hurry?" asked the Angel.
"No, I have no place to go. What is the nearest village or town?"
"Watertown, but you'd better stay and rest a while. You look all tuckered out."