Hearing their voices outside again, she stepped to the door.
"Ye'll be a wantin' supper, won't ye?"
"Yes, let us have it as soon as you can, for we're tired and hungry."
"She mout put some pizen in de wittles, massa doctah, don't you tink?" whispered Zeb, close at Kenneth's ear, and shuddering as he spoke.
"If you think so, it might be as well to watch her," was the quiet half-amused answer.
"Dat I will, sah!" and Zeb bustled in and sat himself down between the table and the wide chimney, where he could have a full view of all the preparations for the coming meal.
The woman scowled at him and broadly hinted that he was in the way, but Zeb was obtuse and would not take a hint.
He watched her narrowly as she mixed corn-bread and put it to bake, as she made the rye coffee, and fried the ham and eggs. It would have been impossible for her to put a single ingredient into any of these without his knowledge.
Nor did he relax his scrutiny until he had eaten his own supper, after seeing the gentlemen safely through theirs.
"She mout put sumpin into de cups wen she pours de coffee," he had said to himself.