Benny had already reached the door at the end of the hall. The woman
began to tug at her apron strings.

"I hope you'll excuse my gingham apron, Mr.--er--Smith. Wasn't that
the name?"

"Yes." The man bowed with a smile.

"I thought that was what Benny said. Well, as I was saying, I hope
you'll excuse this apron." Her fingers were fumbling with the knot at
the back. "I take it off, mostly, when the bell rings, evenings or
afternoons; but I heard Benny, and I didn't suppose 't was anybody but
him. There, that's better!" With a jerk she switched off the dark blue
apron, hung it over her arm, and smoothed down the spotless white
apron which had been beneath the blue. The next instant she hurried
after Benny with a warning cry. "Careful, child, careful! Oh, Benny,
you're always in such a hurry!"

Benny, with a cheery "Come on!" had already banged open the door
before him, and was reaching for the gas burner.

A moment later the feeble spark above had become a flaring sputter of
flame.

"There, child, what did I tell you?" With a frown Mrs. Blaisdell
reduced the flaring light to a moderate flame, and motioned Mr. Smith
to a chair. Before she seated herself, however, she went back into the
hall to lower the gas there.