Wade ate his breakfast by the open window.  He didn’t know in which of the three ways Zephania had prepared his coffee, but it was excellent, and even the condensed milk couldn’t spoil it.  The eggs were snowy cushions of delight on golden tablets of toast, and the butter was hued like old ivory.  Zephania objected to condensed milk, however, and suggested that she be allowed to bring a quart of “real milk” with her when she came in the mornings.

“Of course, you won’t need a whole quart, unless you drink it, but, if you like cream in your coffee, it’ll be a great deal heavier from a quart than from a pint.  We get six cents for milk.”

“By all means, let us have a quart,” replied Wade, recklessly.  “Such good coffee as this, Zephania, deserves the best cream to be had.”  Zephania blushed with pleasure and beamed down upon him radiantly.

“And maybe, sir, you’d like me to make you some bread?”

“I would.  I was about to broach the subject,” was the mendacious answer.  “Could you do it?”

“Yes, indeed.  Why, when they had the church fair over to The Center last winter I sent four loaves, and Mrs. Whitely, that’s the minister’s wife, sir, said it was just as good as any there.”

“I want to know!” said Wade, unconsciously falling into local idiom.

“Yes, sir.  I can make two kinds of bread.  I’ll make the milk bread first, though, and let you try that.  Most folks likes milk bread the best.  Shall I set some to-night?”

“Set some?  Oh, yes, please do.”

While she was removing the tray Zephania asked:  “Which room would you like to have me clean first, sir?”

“Well, I suppose we ought to clean the whole place up, hadn’t we?”

[Illustration:  “Oh, no, sir,” Replied Zephania, with A shocked, pitying expression]

“Oh, yes, sir!  Everything’s just covered with dust.  I never did see such a dirty house.  Houses do get that way, though, if they’re shut up for a long time.  Maybe I’d just better begin at the top and work down?”

“That seems sensible,” said Wade.  “You could just sort of sweep the dirt down the front stairs and right out of the front door, couldn’t you?”

“Oh, no, sir,” replied Zephania, with a shocked, pitying expression.  “I’d never do that.  I’d clean each room separately, sir; sweep and wash up the floors and around the mop-board and—­”

“Whatever way you think best,” interrupted Wade.  “I leave it all to you, Zephania, and I’m sure it will be done beautifully.”

“Thank you, sir.  Mother says I’m a real smart cleaner.  Shall I get some more flowers in this vase, sir?  This piece of lilac’s dreadfully wilted.”

“No, Zephania, just let that remain, please.  The fact, is, that—­that’s a rather particular piece of lilac; something out of the common.”

“Out of the common?” echoed Zephania, in faint surprise, surveying as much of the common as she could see through the window.  “You don’t mean our common?”