Mr. Romayne diverted his attention from his dinner. “What is she talking about, Miss Gwynne? I confess to be entirely absorbed in these fried potatoes.”
“Words, words, Mr. Romayne, vocabulary, adjectives,” replied Nora.
“Ah,” said Romayne, “but why should one worry about words, especially adjectives, when one has such divine realities as these to deal with?”
“Have some muffles, Mr. Romayne,” said Nora.
“Muffles? Now what may muffles be?”
“Muffles are a cross between muffins and waffles.”
“Please elucidate their nature and origin,” said Mr. Romayne.
“Let me show you,” said Kathleen. She sprang up, dived into the cabin and returned with a large, round, hard biscuit in her hand. “This is Hudson Bay hard tack, the stand-by of all western people—Hudson Bay freighters and cowboys, old timers and tenderfeet alike swear by it. See, you moisten it slightly in water, fry it in boiling fat, sugar it and keep hot till served. Thus Hudson Bay hard tack becomes muffles.”
“Marvellous!” exclaimed Mr. Romayne, “and truly delicious! And to think that the Savoy chef knows nothing about muffles! But now that my first faintness is removed and the mystery of muffles is solved, may I inquire just what you are doing up here to-day, Miss Gwynne? What is the business on hand, I mean?”
“Oh, Nora is getting out some logs for building and firewood for next winter. The logs, you see, are cut during the winter and hauled to the dump there.”