"What's happened to Marie?" demanded Peace, ungraciously. Then catching sight of the quaint garb the new waitress was wearing, her face lighted expectantly, and she cried in delight, "O, Gussie, how'd you come to think of that? Ain't that Swede dress pretty, Allee? 'Tis Swede, isn't it?"
"Yes," laughed Gussie, perfectly satisfied with the reception of her little surprise. "This is the way women dress in Sweden where I was born."
"And I'll bet you've got something nice under that napkin, too," Peace hazarded, her eyes dancing with their old roguish gleam.
"I shouldn't wonder a bit," Gussie retorted, setting down the tray before the eager duet and carefully lifting off the white towel which covered it. The girls looked mystified,—a trifle disappointed, it seemed to the watchful cook,—and she hastily explained, "I've brought you a Swedish supper."
"A—what?" gasped Peace, still studying the queer dishes on the tray.
"A supper like the boys and girls in Sweden eat."
"Oh-h!" cried both girls in unison. "What fun!"
"Do they have this every night?" asked Allee, privately thinking that if they did she was glad she was an American.
"Oh, no, not always. This is just a—a sample supper. We have different dishes in Sweden just as you do here or in France or England."
"Then make us another Swede supper tomorrow night,—and every night until we've et up all your Swede dishes. Will you, Gussie?" wheedled Peace.