part would have been most disastrous, and it was with full appreciation of the audacity of her performance that she scudded around the barn and gained the cherry-tree behind it.
The young man was sitting on the grass, his head against the tree; his eyes brightened as she approached.
"Have any luck?" he inquired.
She held out the plate, and, as he took it, fumbled in her pocket for the fork.
"It's all cold," she murmured apologetically, "but I knew Maggie'd never warm it. Do you mind?"
"Not a bit," he answered, with a whimsical glance at her eagerness to serve him. "I always did like greens," he added, as he accepted the fork and attacked the spinach.
"Here, William Thayer!"
He handed one of the chops to the dog, and stared as Caroline drew out the salt-cellar.
"Did you—well, by—that's pretty kind, now!"
"Potatoes are so nasty without it," she explained.
