Left to herself, Patricia suddenly remembered that there was to be
strawberry shortcake for supper. Oh, dear, if only Custard had chosen
any other day to drift across her path! A sent-to-bed bed-supper meant
simply bread and milk. Patricia wondered if Dr. Vail would mind about
not having custard as much as she did about not having strawberry
shortcake. She decided that when she was grown up and had little girls
of her own she'd never send them to bed early on strawberry shortcake
night.

She heard her father drive into the yard, heralded by Cæsar's deep bark.
Cæsar had gone with the doctor on his day's round. Patricia knew how he
was running about now, looking for her. She hoped Sarah would forget and
leave the screen door open. Cæsar would be sure to come upstairs then.
She rather thought Daddy would delay his coming until after supper.

Sarah was taking in supper now; she could hear the dishes rattling.
She was very hungry; that hasty raid on the pantry had not been very
satisfactory. If Custard had felt that way she didn't much blame him for
eating up Miss Susan's custard. Probably no one had ever taught him that
it was wrong to take what didn't belong to him.

There! Sarah was bringing up her supper now!

Patricia sat up in bed; even bread and milk appeared highly desirable at
that moment.

But there was more than bread and milk on the tray Sarah carried.
Patricia stared at the generous square of strawberry shortcake,
plentifully supplied with cream, in wondering silence.