"First returns from the amateur cooking district!" he muttered, glancing
critically about the kitchen.

Something else in the way of overcooked viands seemed to assail his
nostrils, and he jerked open the oven door. A tin of blackened rolls
puffed out at him their pungent smoke.

"Well, what--" he was beginning with the natural irritation of the
hungry man, who has been anticipating his supper all the way home, and
sees it in ruin before his eyes, when Charlotte appeared in the doorway.

"O Lanse!" she cried, and ran to him.

"Well, what is it? Celia got a headache and left you in charge?
Everything's burnt up--I can tell you that----"

"Celia is--she's broken her knee!"

"_What_?"

"She fell down the cellar stairs and----"

"Where is she?" Lunch-pail and hat went down on the floor as Lanse got
rid of them and seized Charlotte's arm.

"Up in her room. Doctor Churchill's there. He's sent for Doctor
Forester."

"Churchill--Forester," repeated Lanse, as if dazed. "Poor old girl--is