Next morning Eva wakened early and looked out of her window, which was shaded by a climbing rose that trailed right across it. The house was boarded and shingled, one little piece of wood neatly overlapping the other; it was only two stories high, with deep eaves and a wide verandah all around it.
Breakfast once over, Eva made a tour of the rooms, ending up in the kitchen, accompanied, of course, by all the boys and Babs at her heels. Uncertain what to do first, she was much astonished at a voice proceeding from the washhouse saying in familiar fashion, "Where on earth are you all?" There had been no knock at the door, no bell rung—what could it mean?
Standing unconcernedly in the middle of the room unrolling an apron stood a little woman of about forty years.
"Good day to you, Eva; hope you slept well after your journey. Come out of the pantry, Jack, or I'll be after you."
"May I ask whom I am talking to?" asked Eva icily, much resenting being addressed as "Eva."
"I am Mrs. Meadows, and thought I'd just run in and show you where things are. You'll feel kind of strange."
"Of course it will take some time to get used to things, but I think I should prefer doing it in my own way, thank you."
"Perhaps that would be best," replied Mrs. Meadows. "To-day is baking day; can you manage, do you think?"
"I suppose I can order from the baker?"
The woman smiled. "'Help yourself' is the motto of a young country, my dear; every one is her own cook and baker, too. Let me help you to-day, and by next week things will seem easier, and you will be settled and rested. Your mother is my friend; for her sake I'd like to stand by you. Will you tidy the rooms while I see to the kitchen?"