"Poor Maggie? Oh, she's pretty uncomfortable I'm afraid."

They had gone together to the front porch, and as she stood on the
lower step looking up at him, the sunshine suddenly filled her eyes
with limpid brown light. "Maggie is in her room in the ell--the first
door on the left. Shall I show you the way?"

"I know the way," he said.

Mrs. Richie sat down on the porch step to wait for him. She had
nothing else to do. She never had anything to do. She had tried to be
interested in the garden, and bought a trowel and some seeds and
wandered out into the borders; but a manufactured interest has no
staying quality--especially if it involves any hard work. She was glad
when William King came back and sat down beside her; sickness was not
an agreeable topic, but it was a topic.

"Maggie will be all right in two or three days, but don't let her go
into the kitchen before Monday. A bad throat pulls you down. And she's
had a good deal of pain."

"Oh, poor Maggie!" she said wincing.

"A sore throat is nothing so very dreadful," William assured her with
open amusement.

She drew a breath of relief. "Oh, I'm glad! I can't bear to think of
pain." Then she looked at him anxiously. "Don't you think she can cook
before Monday? I'm so tired of scrappy dinners.