“Nothing delights a woman more than to have her cooking praised,” laughed Mrs. Albright.

“I learned that years ago.”  Mr. Randolph smiled reminiscently.  “When I was first married, I think I must have been a rather notional man to cook for.  My wife seldom did much in the kitchen, but one day she made a salad.  As it did not exactly appeal to my appetite, after one taste I remarked that I was not very hungry.  To my dismay she burst into tears.  It was her favorite salad, and she had made it with unusual care, never dreaming that I would not like it as well as she did.  Ever afterwards I ate the whole bill of fare straight through.”

“It sometimes takes courage to do that,” smiled Mrs. Albright.  “I hope you had a good cook.  How much people think of eating!  I don’t blame ’em either.  Nobody enjoys anything better than—­for instance, a lunch like this.”

“Robert Louis Stevenson did,” spoke up Mrs. Adlerfeld.  “I read in my day-to-day book this morning—­I can’t quite ’remember—­yes, this is it:  ’After a good woman, and a good book, and tobacco, there is nothing so agreeable on earth as a river.’  I did not think then I should be eating my dinner right on the bank of a little river!” She gazed down lovingly on the water swirling and, foaming among the stones.

“Stevenson ought to know,” said Mr. Randolph with a pleased smile.  “So he is one of your favorites as well as mine!”

“Yes, I like him very.”  Her little sunny face beamed with pleasure.  “His book is more educating as many things said by a teacher.”

“He is a good teacher.”

“I wish he had not put in tobacco,” scowled Mrs. Adlerfeld.  “There are a many things better as tobacco.”

“You have not tried it,” he returned.  “Stevenson knew because he had tried it.”

The little woman shook her head decidedly.  “I have been suffered a many times by tobacco.”  Then a smile broke mischievously.  “You may smoke after dinner, Mr. Randolph.”

The man laughed.  “I was not pleading for myself,” he protested.  “This is sufficiently soothing—­” His hand made a comprehensive sweep.  “Tobacco would be superfluous.”

Miss Sterling had risen and gone over to the lunch-box, where she was trying to open a second thermos bottle.

“Let me do that for you!” He sprang to help her.

She stepped back heedlessly, her foot slipped, and with a sharp cry she fell on the smooth slope.

Polly and Mr. Randolph reached her together.

“Are you hurt?” Polly’s voice was distressed.

“Any damage done?” The man’s tone was cheery, yet concerned.

She laughed bravely.

“Oh, no!” taking the proffered hands and trying to rise.  Then she sank back, catching her breath hard.

“It’s just my ankle—­but it isn’t hurt!” she declared fiercely.  “Let me try it again.”

She stood on her feet.  “I guess I’m all here,” she laughed; yet even with the words her face grew white.