Part 14 (2/2)

Jane could have sat there basking in the lad's evident admiration for hours, but the position of the sun, high above them, suggested to her that something must be amiss. ”I wonder why Dan and the children do not return,” she said, rising to look up the brook trail. Jean leaped to his feet and together they went around the cabin and scanned the mountain-side and the lad yodeled, but there was no response.

”Of course, nothing could have happened to them all,” Jane a.s.sured him.

”They have gone farther than they planned, I suppose.” Then, turning with a helpless little laugh, she said in her most winning way (and Jane could be quite irresistible when she wished), ”I have a terrible confession to make. You will have to starve if they do not return, for I have never learned to cook.”

”Great! I'm glad you haven't, because that will give me an opportunity of s.h.i.+ning in an art at which I excel.” The lad seemed br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with enthusiasm. Jane smiled up at him. He stood a head taller than she, with wide, square shoulders that looked so strong and capable of carrying whatever burden might be placed upon them.

”How did you happen to learn how to cook?” the girl inquired, and then wondered at the sudden change of expression in his handsome face. The joyful enthusiasm of the moment before was gone and in its place was an expression both tender and sad. ”The last year of my little mother's life we two went alone to our cabin on the Maine coast. Mums wanted to take our Chinaman, but I begged her to let me have her all alone by myself, and so under her direction I learned to cook. Miss Abbott,” the boy turned toward her, seeming to feel sure of her understanding sympathy, ”that was the happiest summer of my life, but it had the saddest ending, for, try as I might to keep her, my little mother faded away and left us.” Then abruptly he exclaimed, as though he dared not trust himself to keep on: ”Won't you lead me to the kitchen, and when the wanderers return we will have a feast ready for them.”

CHAPTER XIX.

A NEW COOK

Such a pleasant half hour was spent by these two who seemed content just to be together, Jane, with a twinge of regret, realized that the youth was idealizing her. He constantly attributed to her qualities that she well knew that she did not possess. He told her that he could understand why she had not learned to cook simply because for years she had been away at a fas.h.i.+onable seminary. ”But now is your golden opportunity, and I am indeed lucky to be your first teacher.” That he was pleased was quite evident. ”I am sure you agree with me, Miss Abbott, that cooking is as essential in a young woman's education as painting or singing.” Then he laughed boyishly. ”I'm afraid, when I am hungry that I would far rather have a beautiful girl cook for me than sing to me. Now, what is the menu to be?”

Jane looked about the kitchen helplessly. She did not wish to confess to Jean Sawyer that she had not before been in there except to pa.s.s through it to their outdoor dining-room.

”Julie and Dan were planning the meal. I really don't know.” The situation was relieved by Jean's asking: ”May I prepare anything I can find?”

”Oh, yes, do please! It really doesn't matter which of our supplies are used first.” The girl was glad to have the problem thus easily solved.

After a few moments of ransacking, the lad looked up from a box as he asked: ”Miss Jane, will you pare the potatoes?”

She shrank away before she realized what she was doing. ”Oh, wouldn't they stain my hands terribly?” Then, with her most winning smile, she held them both out to him. ”You see, they haven't a stain on them yet, and I did hope they never would have.” The boy made a move as though to take the hands in his. But he stooped quickly over the box of potatoes and said earnestly: ”Right you are, Miss Abbott. They are far too lovely to mar.”

Perhaps because of a.s.sociated ideas it was that he recalled a poem that went somewhat in this way: ”Beautiful hands are those that do work that is useful, kind and true.” What he said was: ”Suppose you set the table.

I'll make the fire and have a pot of goulash in no time. That is my favorite camp menu, perhaps because it is the simplest.”

Everything was in readiness when merry voices were heard without, and Julie, evidently believing they were unheard, said in a stage whisper: ”Don't tell Jane that we've been up to see Meg Heger's hospital, will you, Dan? She'd be mad as anything.” The older lad was opening the kitchen door at that moment, and the two, who had been keeping so still in the kitchen that the surprise might be complete, could not but hear.

Vaguely Jean Sawyer wondered why Jane would be ”mad” because the rest of her family had been to call upon a neighbor. Glancing at her proud, beautiful face, he saw a scornful curl to the mouth which he had thought so lovely, and it was not pleasant to behold. But a moment later he had forgotten it, in the excitement that followed his discovery. Dan advanced with glowing eyes and outstretched hand. ”Jean Sawyer! How glad we are to have you with us. These are the youngsters, Julie and Gerald.” The little girl made a pretty curtsy and Gerry thrust out a chubby, freckled hand, smiling his widest as he looked admiringly at the cowboy's costume.

”Gee!” he confided, ”I'd like awful well to have one of those rigs. Dan, don't you s'pose they make 'em small enough for boys?”

But it was Jean who answered. ”They do, indeed, and what is more, there is one over at the Packard ranch more typical than mine, which I am pretty sure will fit you. A grandson of Mr. Packard's was with us last summer, but he isn't coming this year and he'd be glad to have you wear it.” Then, smiling at the older girl, he said to Dan: ”Your sister, Miss Jane, has agreed to bring you all over to our place to spend next Sunday.

That is a week from today.” Julie, upon hearing this, was about to blurt out her disappointment by saying, ”How can she, if she's going back East on Tuesday?” But a cold glance from her sister's eyes made the small girl turn away with quivering lips. After all Jane was going to stay and their summer would be spoiled. Jean Sawyer had also witnessed this by-play and he felt a sense of great disappointment.

It was quite evident that Jane Abbott's beauty was only skin deep.

When Jean Sawyer took his departure that afternoon, Dan accompanied him part way ”cross-lots,” as the former lad had called it.

They crossed the brook and after climbing many a jagged boulder, began the descent on the side of the mountain nearest the wide valley in which was located the fertile Packard ranch.

These two lads, so near of an age, found that they were most congenial.

When Dan confessed that his dearest desire was to become a writer of purpose fiction, Jean heartily applauded. ”Great! I'd give anything if I had the ability to do something fine for this old world of ours, but, just at present, I believe I will continue being Mr. Packard's foreman.

Really, Dan, reading and studying with that man is as good as having a post-graduate course at college.”

<script>