"She put—the ice—in a hunk, in the big pitcher in the wash-bowl!" and the tears ran down her cheeks.
I laughed a little then in spite of myself.
"Nellie's an old fool," I said and went back to my work.
It happened that Father and Alec had gone to Boston for the day on business, and the last minute Tom had joined them, so the men wouldn't be home until night anyhow. I called up the twins, just before their fifth-hour period (I had cut school myself) and told them to get a bite to eat at the high school lunch-counter. "I'll pay for it," I assured them, for I knew the twins would jump at the chance of a free spread, and as they had manual-training that afternoon, Elise and I were safe from any interruption from the male section.
We had supper at half-past six as usual. It was very queer about that meal. The awful strain we had all felt the same day at breakfast had suddenly disappeared. Elise had suggested that we shouldn't tell any one of Delia's departure, and on the outside everything was just as it was in the morning, even to Nellie's ridiculous cap.
"These biscuits are good, Lucy," Father said suddenly, as he reached for the plate. Father usually speaks of the food, but he hadn't done so once since Elise had come.
"There's more in the kitchen," announced Nellie blandly.
"There's a whole panful," added Elise. "I'm awfully glad you like them!" she exclaimed and then stopped short.
