"I would rather go up street and buy some bread," said John. "There is a bakery not far off."
"I think that will be the best way,—unless you mean to make your supper on cake alone. There is some one coming in. Who is it?"
There was a gentle knock at the door as she spoke. John opened it, and saw a small, middle-aged woman, plain, and plainly dressed, but with an expression of kindness and gentleness which made Letty like her at once. In one hand she held a bouquet of early flowers, and in the other a large plate full of something neatly folded in a white napkin.
"Good-evening, Mrs. Caswell,—I suppose it is Mrs. Caswell?" said the stranger. "My name is De Witt, and I live next door. I hope you will excuse my taking such a liberty, but I thought may-be you hadn't made any calculations for supper: so I just baked some short-cakes and brought them over. I hope you won't be offended, now."
"No, indeed," said Letty, cordially. "I am very much obliged to you. I was just wondering what we should do; for we forgot to order any flour."
"There! That's just what I thought," said Mrs. De Witt, setting down the plate. "I says to Mr. De Witt, says I,—
"'Mr. De Witt, I don't believe them young things have thought to get any flour;'—for, you see, I sit right by the front window with my work, and I hadn't seen no flour-wagon come here.
"And Mr. De Witt, he says, 'Oh, Ruth, you are always so observing.'
"'I don't care,' says I. 'I'm going to bake 'em some biscuits; and if they don't like 'em they needn't eat 'em,' says I—"
Mrs. De Witt stopped for want of breath.