“But it isn’t open!” said Mrs. Jervis in dismay; “and I didn’t think to bring a can-opener. If I had only known of this picnic-party, I might have provided myself.”
“I’ll open it,” said her neighbor, taking out a pocket knife; “I’ve opened many a can in my travels on the plains.”
“Don’t take off the top,” said Mrs. Jervis. “Make two holes in the cover.” He looked up in surprise. She went on: “One to let out the milk, and the other to let in the air so that it can get out.”
“Well, if that isn’t an idea!” said the man, a broad grin spreading over his face. “It takes a woman to think of that contrivance!”
“You see,” said Mrs. Jervis, “that keeps the milk in the can clean, and it pours out as well as if the whole top was off.”
“Sure!” said the man; “I’ll never forget that little trick; thank you, ma’am!”
Mrs. Jervis smiled. “You’re quite welcome,” she said, as she proceeded to dilute the milk with water from the cooler, and to warm the mixture on the stove, using her own silver traveling-cup for the purpose.
While she was doing this, she had put the baby on Ethel’s lap, saying quietly, “You hold her a minute till I get the milk ready.”
Ethel half grudgingly took the feebly wailing baby; but when the milk was warmed and the hungry little creature quietly fell asleep in her arms, she showed no desire to give her up. Mrs. Jervis, having procured a pillow from the porter,—for this was a sleeping-car,—laid the sleeping infant on the seat opposite her own.
Meanwhile, the idea she had been all this time seeking—the plan for giving Ethel something to think of besides herself—had come to her, and she now suggested it to her daughter, who had stopped crying, though she still looked very unhappy.