Lydia left the baby clinging to Lizzie's skirts and went on into the
kitchen. Her father was washing his hands at the sink.

"Hello, Dad!" she said. The child had a peculiar thread of richness in
her voice when she spoke to little Patience and it was apparent again
as she greeted the man at the sink. He turned toward her.

"Well, young woman, it's about time you got home," he said. "Baby all
right?"

Lydia nodded and turned toward the litter of dishes and paper parcels
on the kitchen table. Amos Dudley at this time was about forty years
old,--a thin man of medium weight, his brown hair already gray at the
temples. Lydia evidently got from him the blue of her eyes and the
white of her teeth. He began to peel off a pair of brown overalls.

"What's for supper?" he asked.

"Round steak," said Lydia.

"For heaven's sake, don't let Liz touch it."

"I won't," said the child, piling up dishes deftly. "I'm going to give
baby her cup of milk, and then I'll fix it in my patent way."

Amos nodded. "You're a natural cook, like your mother." He paused,
one leg of his overalls off, disclosing his shiny black trousers.
Lydia carried the cup of milk toward the dining-room. From where he
sat he could see her kneel before little Patience, and hold the cup,