It was a little past their usual hour for tea, and the open dining-room door gave a glimpse of a table covered with snowy damask and glittering with polished silver, cut glass, and china; but Dr. Landreth was closeted with some one in his office on the other side of the hall, and his wife waited the departure of the patient a trifle anxiously, fearing that her carefully prepared viands would lose their finest flavor, if not be rendered quite tasteless by standing so long.
"Shall I make de waffles in de iron, ma'am?" asked Gretchen, coming to the door.
"No, not yet," said Mildred, "they would be cooked too soon; the doctor likes them best just as they are ready."
"De iron gets too hot," observed the girl.
"Yes, take it off, Gretchen. I can't tell just how soon the doctor will be in, so we will have to keep him waiting while we heat the iron."
The girl went back to her kitchen, and Percy, dropping his toys, came to his mother's side with a petition to be taken into her lap.
She laid aside her sewing, took him on her knee, and amused him with stories suited to his baby mind.
At length she heard the office door open, and a familiar voice saying, "Well, Charlie, I shall take the matter into consideration. Am much obliged for your advice, whether I follow it or not."
Mildred hastily set Percy down, and ran to the door.