Last night's odours had in a measure prepared her
for what she would see, but not quite. She scarcely could believe her
senses. Half the bread compartment was filled with dainty sandwiches of
bread and butter sprinkled with the yolk of egg and the remainder with
three large slices of the most fragrant spice cake imaginable. The meat
dish contained shaved cold ham, of which she knew the quality, the
salad was tomatoes and celery, and the cup held preserved pear, clear as
amber. There was milk in the bottle, two tissue-wrapped cucumber pickles
in the folding drinking-cup, and a fresh napkin in the ring. No lunch
was ever daintier or more palatable; of that Elnora was perfectly sure.
And her mother had prepared it for her! "She does love me!" cried the
happy girl. "Sure as you're born she loves me; only she hasn't found it
out yet!"
She touched the papers daintily, and smiled at the box as if it were a
living thing. As she began closing it a breath of air swept by, lifting
the covering of the cake. It was like an invitation, and breakfast
was several hours away. Elnora picked up a piece and ate it. That cake
tasted even better than it looked. Then she tried a sandwich. How did
her mother come to think of making them that way. They never had any at
home. She slipped out the fork, sampled the salad, and one-quarter of
pear. Then she closed the box and started down the road nibbling one
of the pickles and trying to decide exactly how happy she was, but she
could find no standard high enough for a measure.
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