“I am Gwen,” she said simply.
She was a girl of about fourteen, very slim and straight, with wide grey eyes that looked very frankly into those of the young men, although you felt a timidity in spite of her directness. Her scant blue dress was clean and whole and her brown hair was parted and braided in two long plaits, showing much care and brushing.
“Oh, how do you do, Miss Gwen? I am Lewis Somerville and this is my friend and fellow laborer, Mr. William Tinsley.”
The girl made a little old-fashioned courtesy with a quaint grace that charmed the laborers.
“Do you want me to cook and clean for you?”
“Of course we do! What can you cook?”
“I have learned to cook some very good dishes at the Mountain Mission School. Maybe you would not like them, though.”
“Of course we would like them! When can you start?”
“When you wish!”
“Well, I wish now,” put in Bill. “I never tasted meaner coffee than you made last night except what I made myself this morning, and as for your method of broiling bacon—rotten—rotten!”