If he had not been informed that her age was fifteen Wade would have supposed Zephania’s years to be not over a baker’s dozen.  She was a round-faced, smiling-visaged, black-haired, black-eyed, ruddy-cheeked little mite who simply oozed cheerfulness and energy.  She wore a shapeless pink cotton dress which reached almost to her ankles, and over that a blue-checked apron which nearly trailed on the floor.  Her sleeves were rolled elbow-high and one little thin hand clutched a dish-cloth as a badge of office.  Wade stared dubiously at Zephania and Zephania smiled brightly back.

“Look here, my child,” said Wade, “how old are you, anyway?”

“Fifteen in March, sir.”

“Next March?”

“No, sir, last.”

“You don’t look it.”

“No, sir, folks say I’m small for my age,” agreed Zephania, cheerfully.

“I agree with them.  Do you think you’re strong enough to do the work here?”

“Oh, yes, sir.  This is a very easy house to look after.”

“Well,” said Wade, hesitatingly, “you can have a try at it, but it seems to me you’re too young to be doing housework.”

“I’ve always done it,” replied Zephania, beamingly.  “What’ll you have for breakfast, sir?”

“Coffee—­can you make coffee?”

“Yes, sir, three ways.”

“Well, one way will do,” said Wade, hurriedly.  “And you’ll find some eggs there, I believe, and some bread.  You might fry the eggs and toast the bread.  I guess that will do for this morning.”

“Yes, sir, thank you,” answered Zephania, politely.  “Wouldn’t you rather have the eggs poached?”

“Er—­why, yes, if you can do it.”

“I can cook eggs eleven ways,” said Zephania, proudly.  “Are you going to eat breakfast in here or in there?” She nodded past Wade at the sitting-room.

“Well, what do you think?”

“It’s sunnier in there, sir.  I could just clear the end of that table.  There’s a fine big tray, sir.”

“An excellent idea,” replied Wade.  “I place myself—­and my house—­in your hands, Zephania.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Zephania.

Breakfast was prepared that morning to the strains of “Jesus, Lover of My Soul.”  Wade went out to the kitchen presently to wash hands and face at the sink and dry them on a roller towel, which Zephania whisked before him as if by magic.  Watching her for a minute or two dispelled all doubts as to her ability.  The way in which she broke the eggs and slipped them into the boiling water was a revelation of dexterity.  And all the while she sang on uninterruptedly, joyously, like the gray-breast on the hedge.  Wade went out into the garden and breathed in deep breaths of the cool, moist air.  The grass and the shrubs were heavy with dew and the morning world was redolent of the perfume exhaled from moist earth and growing things.  In the neglected orchard the birds were chattering and piping, and from a nearby field came the excited cawing of crows.  It was corn-planting time.