Part 12 (2/2)

”What did you say, John?”

”Miss Doane sent them to you with her love. She said that it was her baking day, and that she had made them herself. The cookies are for the children to slip in their ap.r.o.n pockets and eat at recess,”

recited the butler with an immobile face.

Mrs. Cairns raised the napkins and surveyed the cakes; then she looked at her husband and her guests. They laughed; that is, the guests did, but not Mr. Cairns.

”Take them to the kitchen, John,” Mrs. Cairns ordered. ”The servants may have them.”

”No; bring them here, John,” Mr. Cairns said sharply. ”You may go and say that Mrs. Cairns thanks Miss Doane very much for her thoughtfulness in remembering her on her baking day, and that she is sure she will enjoy the doughnuts--and the cookies will be given to the children.”

The servant left the room, and Mr. Cairns sat very quietly looking at the plates before him. He took up one of the doughnuts, studied it, then finally took a bite of it.

”Hot,” he said, ”and crispy.”

He was quiet a moment, with a far away look in his eye; then, as if noticing the silence of his guests, he said with a quiet laugh:

”It takes me back--back--. Bless her old soul! I understand. And it takes me back--and--well, I'm a boy again and I can see Mother standing over the stove, and I can smell the hot cakes when I come in from school, and hear her say, 'Jimmie, take your hands out of that crock! No, you can't have but one. Well, two, but no more. Now take that plate over to Mis' Fisher and that one to Miss Corbin--'”

He was quiet again for a few moments; then, as if coming back to the world beside him, he said in his usual even tones:

”Shall we go into the library?”

And the guests did not laugh again.

Drusilla was neighborly in other ways besides that of sending cakes and cookies on her baking day. One day she heard that Mrs. Beaumont, who lived in the first house below her, was ill. ”She has a bad cold,” Miss Lee told her, ”and they are afraid it might develop into pneumonia. But, between you and me, she's just bored to death and doesn't have enough to interest her.”

As soon as her visitor left, Drusilla went upstairs, and came down with a little package in her hand and an old-fas.h.i.+oned sunbonnet on her head. She went out of the gate and down the road until she came to the great gates that guarded the home of the multi-millionaire who lived there.

She was told at the door that Mrs. Beaumont was not receiving, but she told the man to tell his mistress that she had something special for her and would not detain her but a moment. The man rather unwillingly took her message, and returning in a few moments conducted Drusilla into a luxurious bedroom, where a very beautiful woman was lying upon a chaise lounge, dressed in an elaborate peignoir, her hair covered by a marvelous creation that went by the name of boudoir cap. She languidly gave her hand to Drusilla.

”You want to see me?” she murmured in a low, languid voice. ”Won't you please sit down? And excuse my appearance. I am not receiving-- but--but--I thought I would see _you_.”

Drusilla sat down.

”Now that's real nice of you to see me. I heard you was sick--had a bad cold; and I thought I'd come in and see if I couldn't help you. I brung some boneset. I nursed a lot when I was younger, and I found that boneset is the best thing in the world fer a cold. Jest make a tea of it and drink it hot. It's kind of bitter, but you can put milk and sugar in it if you want to--though, to my notion, that makes it worse. Then git right into bed and cover up and sweat. It's the best thing in the world fer a cold--jest sweat it out of you. If you should put a hot brick or a hot flatiron at your back and another at your feet, it'd help. By to-morrow you won't know you got a cold.”

The woman's face was a study; but the doctor entered at that moment and saved her. She said:

”Dr. Hodman, this is Miss Doane, my nearest neighbor.”

Drusilla shook his hand heartily.

”I'm real glad to see you. I've brung Mis' Beaumont some herbs. A little boneset. I told her to make a good strong cup o' tea of it, and drink it hot, then git into bed and cover up warm, and sweat, and by to-morrow she wouldn't know she had a cold.”

The doctor looked from Drusilla to Mrs. Beaumont, hardly knowing what to say. This little old lady, with her sunbonnet and her boneset tea, was not the usual visitor he encountered in the homes of his fas.h.i.+onable patients.

”Yes,” said Mrs. Beaumont, ”and--and--Miss Doane was telling me that a hot brick--what was it you said, Miss Doane?”

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