"Cookies and coffee!" moaned Mrs. Lawton. "Barbarous combination! Mr. Roberts's dinner will be destroyed, or, to speak more correctly, his appetite will be destroyed. And while I'll not call it vulgar, still there is something so very domestic, so very intimate about a home-made cookie, that personally--no, my daughter, I could not have offered one to a stranger! Still I suppose we must expect these touches of bohemianism, now that you have become a professional actress!" In the few moments that he sat there, Jim saw the poverty surrounding them. He could not help noticing the carpets and curtains, worn to the bone; the ancient and honorable furniture, the severity of the chairs; and yet the Lawtons were, temporarily at least, unconscious of it all. They were caught up in a golden glory of family love, of mutual admiration, of ineffable tenderness, and while all other eyes were turned with pride upon the dear wanderer returned, she, still timing him, still holding the plate of cookies, with an impulse that would not be denied, stretched out her free arm and drew her sister close to her side, gazing at her with an expression of love so protecting, so maternal, she might have been Dorrie's elder by ten years instead of two. "Ah!" thought Roberts, "you'd be quick to suspect danger for her, and you'd be strong to protect; but to your own peril you'd be as blind as a young white owl facing the sun!" With almost a groan he sprang to his feet, a movement that wrung a disappointed "Ach!" from Lena, who, to the amusement of Dorothy and the fuming indignation of Mrs. Lawton, had been eagerly peering through the crack of the door, trying to get a good look at "Vun of dem Herr actin' mens, ven dey vasn't makin' no believes to nobody," and her betraying "Ach!" came with such a pony-like snort that even Mr. Lawton had joined in his daughters' laughter. Then Sybil stepped close to Roberts and whispered, swiftly: "Will you be vexed if I ask you just to speak one word to our little German maid, who is the staff of the whole family, and whose manner is the only bad thing about her? Ah, you are good! [What would he not have done for Sybil's asking?] Dorrie, you call her. She wouldn't come for anyone else now." "Lena! Lena!" called Dorothy's gay voice. "Lena! Quick, please!" And then, very, very red in the face, the sturdy, square little serving-woman stood in the doorway. "We are in such a hurry, Lena," said Sybil, "because Mr. Roberts has to catch this next train; but, as he is the gentleman who brought me safe home after helping me to learn to act, I know you too want to thank him." "Oh, ja! I doos so!" answered Lena, heartily, making her peasant-like bob of a courtesy. But Jim Roberts went over to her, saying, with a laugh: "If there's any thanking to be done, I'm the one to do it; for, Mistress Lena, I haven't tasted cookies like yours since, as a bad boy, I came home at recess to hook them fresh and warm from my mother's pantry. Thank you, Lena!"