“Can’t you bake at all?”
“No, mam.”
“Have you never cooked?”
“No, mam.”
“Well, what can you do?”
The whity-yellow girl brightened again. It was evident that this time she was to vary her reply.
“I kin milk, mam.”
Two hours later, Jack surveyed the new acquisition through the porch window. “I see we have an Angel of the House,” he said to Barbara, who had stretched her weary length in the hammock. “How came she here?”
“She just blew in.”