LeHaye? Excuse me for not shaking hands. I'm all flour. Lay your
things in there. Ma's spending the day with Aunt Gus at Forest City
and I'm the whole works around here. It's got skirts and suits beat a
mile. Hot, ain't it? Say, suppose you girls slip off your waists and
I'll give you each an all-over apron that's loose and let's the breeze
slide around."

Blanche LeHaye, the garrulous, was strangely silent. When she stepped
about it was in the manner of one who is fearful of wakening a
sleeper. When she caught the eyes of either of the other women her own
glance dropped.

When Ethel Morrissey came in with the blue-and-white gingham aprons
Blanche LeHaye hesitated a long minute before picking hers up. Then
she held it by both sleeves and looked at it long, and curiously. When
she looked up again she found the eyes of the other two upon her. She
slipped the apron over her head with a nervous little laugh.

"I've been a pair of pink tights so long," she said, "that I guess
I've almost forgotten how to be a woman. But once I get this on I'll
bet I can come back."

She proved it from the moment that she measured out the first cupful
of brown sugar for the caramel icing. She shed her rings, and pinned
her hair back from her forehead, and tucked up her sleeves, and as
Emma McChesney watched her a resolve grew in her mind.

The cake disposed of--"Give me some potatoes to peel, will you?" said
Blanche LeHaye, suddenly. "Give 'em to me in a brown crock, with a
chip out of the side. There's certain things always goes hand-in-hand