the point, as she always does. She had been dressing leisurely. Now she
made all speed and instead of white linen she slipped into a
blue-and-white-checked gingham. "Don't worry--I'll be down in three
minutes," she assured me cheerily.

I found Lad building the kitchen fire--in the country we do not have gas
ranges. "I'll have her roaring in a jiff," he cried. "I learned a dandy
way camping last year."

Breakfast came off nearly on schedule time. The Gay Lady's omelet was a
feathery success, her coffee perfect, my muffins above reproach. Lad had
helped set the table, he had looked over the fruit, he had skimmed the
cream.

Azalea came in a little late. She had been my guest for a week, and a
delightful guest, too. She has a glorious voice for singing, and she is
very clever and entertaining--everybody likes her.

* * * * *

Of course, when I arose to take away the fruit-plates and bring on the
breakfast, the fact that I was servantless came out. To the Philosopher
and the Skeptic, who were immediately solicitous, I explained that we
should get on very well.

"We'll see that you do," promised the Skeptic. "There are a few things I
flatter myself I can do as well as the next man--or woman. Consider me
at your service."

"The same here," declared the Philosopher. "And--I say--don't fuss