The Eleventh Hour

Robert said good-bye and started back toward his car. Kate looked
after him as he reached the fence. A surge of pity for him swept
up in her heart. He seemed far from happy, and he surely was very
tired. Impulsive as always, she lifted her clear voice and
called: "Robert!"

He paused with his foot on a rail of the fence, and turned toward
her.

"Have you had any dinner?" she asked.

He seemed to be considering. "Come to think of it, I don't
believe I have," he said.

"I thought you looked neglected," said Kate. "Sonny across the
field is starting a shock ahead of me; I can't come, but go to the
kitchen -- the door is unlocked -- you'll find fried chicken and
some preserves and pickles in the pantry; the bread box is right
there, and the milk and butter are in the spring house."

He gave Kate one long look. "Thank you," he said and leaped the
fence. He stopped on the front walk and stood a minute, then he
turned and went around the house. She laughed aloud. She was
sending him to chicken perfectly cooked, barely cold, melon
preserves, pickled cucumbers, and bread like that which had for
years taken a County Fair prize each fall; butter yellow as the
goldenrod lining the fences, and cream stiff enough to stand
alone. Also, he would find neither germ nor mould in her pantry
and spring house, while it would be a new experience for him to
let him wait on himself. Kate husked away in high good humour,
but she quit an hour early to be on time to go to Agatha. She
explained this to Adam, when she told him that he would have to
milk alone, while she bathed and dressed herself and got supper.