Judith was placed at the head of the table, she accepted the position as naturally as she did at the Bensalem parsonage when she was left to be the lady of the house; she poured the delicious coffee, ate her biscuits with a perfect relish, and listened to story, repartee, experiences, plans for work with an appreciation that added zest to the conversation.
“Well, Judith, what do you think of your afternoon?” inquired Roger, when Daisy was trotting the second mile toward home.
“I never had anything like it. I didn’t mind washing the supper dishes with you looking on; but I did mind having him in the kitchen.”
“He couldn’t stay out; it was nuts for him. He’s a first-rate camper, but housekeeping is one too many for him. He is one too many for himself. He wishes to be near the church, so he will not try to find board anywhere.”
“Hasn’t he a sister, or cousin, or somebody?”
“He hasn’t anybody. He wants to bring a family to the parsonage—he might have had one for the summer if he had known he would lose his housekeeper in time. He will make a break and do something. What do you think of him?”
“If I hadn’t seen that dreadful study, and that kitchen—”
“Did you go up stairs?”
“Why, no. Did you think I would do that? I felt myself an intruder every minute. You didn’t think I would do that, Roger.”
“Well, no; now I come to think of it.”