Mrs. Oliver had not lived sixteen years with Polly without learning to leap to conclusions.  “Run down and ask Mrs. Howe if she will let us have her hall-bedroom tonight,” she replied; “nod your head for yes when you come back, and I ’ll act accordingly; I have a request to make of Edgar, and am glad to have so early an opportunity of talking with him.”

“We did close the door, after all,” said Edgar, coming in again.  “What a pretty little apartment you have here!  I have n’t seen anything so cosy and homelike for ages.”

“Then make yourself at home in it,” said Mrs. Oliver, while Polly joined in with, “Is n’t that a pretty fire in the grate?  I ’ll give you one rose-colored lamp with your firelight.  Here, mamacita, is the rocker for you on one side; here, Edgar, is our one ‘man’s chair’ for you on the other.  Stretch out your feet as lazily as you like on my new goatskin rug.  You are our only home-friend in San Francisco; and oh, how mamma will spoil you whenever she has the chance!  Now talk to each other cosily while the ‘angel of the house’ cooks dinner.”

It may be mentioned here that as Mrs. Chadwick’s monthly remittances varied from sixty to seventy-five dollars, but never reached the promised eighty-five, Polly had dismissed little Yung Lee for a month, two weeks of which would be the Christmas vacation, and hoped in this way to make up deficiencies.  The sugar-bowl and ginger-jar were stuffed copiously with notes of hand signed “Cigar-box,” but held a painfully small amount of cash.

“Can’t I go out and help Polly?” asked Edgar, a little later.  “I should never have agreed to stay and dine if I had known that she was the cook.”

“Go out, by all means; but you need n’t be anxious.  Ours is a sort of doll-house-keeping.  We buy everything cooked, as far as possible, and Polly makes play of the rest.  It all seems so simple and interesting to plan for two when we have been used to twelve and fourteen.”

“May I come in?” called Edgar from the tiny dining-room to Polly, who had laid aside her Sunday finery and was clad in brown Scotch gingham mostly covered with ruffled apron.

“Yes, if you like; but you won’t be spoiled here, so don’t hope it.  Mamma and I are two very different persons.  Tie that apron round your waist; I ’ve just begun the salad-dressing; is your intelligence equal to stirring it round and round and pouring in oil drop by drop, while I take up the dinner?”

“Fully.  Just try me.  I ’ll make it stand on its head in three minutes!”

Meanwhile Polly set on the table a platter of lamb-chops, some delicate potato chips which had come out of a pasteboard box, a dish of canned French peas, and a mound of currant-jelly.