Mrs.
Comstock raked together the coals in the cooking stove, got out the
lunch box, and sitting down she studied it grimly. At last she arose.
"Wonder how it would do to show Mag Sinton a frill or two," she
murmured.
She went to her room, knelt before a big black-walnut chest and hunted
through its contents until she found an old-fashioned cook book. She
tended the fire as she read and presently was in action. She first sawed
an end from a fragrant, juicy, sugar-cured ham and put it to cook.
Then she set a couple of eggs boiling, and after long hesitation began
creaming butter and sugar in a crock. An hour later the odour of the
ham, mingled with some of the richest spices of "happy Araby," in a
combination that could mean nothing save spice cake, crept up to Elnora
so strongly that she lifted her head and sniffed amazedly. She would
have given all her precious money to have gone down and thrown her arms
around her mother's neck, but she did not dare move.
Mrs. Comstock was up early, and without a word handed Elnora the case as
she left the next morning.
"Thank you, mother," said Elnora, and went on her way.
She walked down the road looking straight ahead until she came to the
corner, where she usually entered the swamp. She paused, glanced that
way and smiled. Then she turned and looked back. There was no one coming
in any direction. She followed the road until well around the corner,
then she stopped and sat on a grassy spot, laid her books beside her and
opened the lunch box.
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