"What have you got in the house?"
"Nothing on earth, except a ham to boil. Cold ham,—that's all. Do you think that's enough?"
"It won't hurt him to dine on cold ham," the old lady said complacently.
"Why don't you cook your chickens and have them cold too?" Lois asked.
"Cold fricassee ain't worth a cent."
"Cook them some other way. Roast them,—or— Give them to me, and I'll do them for you! I'll do them, Charity. Then with your nice bread, and apple sauce, and potatoes, and some of my pears and apples, and a pumpkin pie, Charity, and coffee,—we shall do very well. Mr. Dillwyn has made a worse dinner in the course of his wanderings, I'll undertake to maintain."
"What shall I have for supper?" Charity asked doubtfully. "Supper comes first."
"Shortcake. And some of your cold ham. And stew up some quinces and apples together, Cherry. You don't want anything more,—or better."
"Do you think he will understand having a cold dinner, Sunday?" Charity asked. "Men make so much of hot dinners."
"What does it signify, my dear, whether he understands it or not?" said
Mrs. Armadale. "What we have to do, is what the Lord tells us to do.
That is all you need mind."