"You are as white as a sheet," said Mrs. White. "Who is burnin' eggs out there?" She pointed to the kitchen. "Father." "Lord! Who's up-stairs?" "Miss Bell and the doctors. They've sent for Aunt Maria, but she can't come before afternoon." Mrs. White fastened a button on her waist. "Well, I'll stay till then," said she. "Lillian can get along all right." Lillian was Mrs. White's eighteen-year-old daughter. Mrs. White opened the kitchen door. "How is she?" she said in a hushed voice to Harry Edgham, frantically stirring the burned eggs, which sent up a monstrous smoke and smell. As she spoke, she went over to him, took the frying-pan out of his hands, and carried it over to the sink. "She is a very sick woman," replied Harry Edgham, looking at Mrs. White with a measure of gratitude. "You've got Dr. Williams and Miss Bell, Maria says?" "Yes." "Maria says her aunt is coming?" "Yes, I sent a telegram." "Well, I'll stay till she gets here," said Mrs. White, and again that expression of almost childish gratitude came over the man's face. Mrs. White began scraping the burned eggs off the pan. "They haven't had any breakfast," said Harry, looking upward. "And they don't dare leave her?" "No." "Well, you just go and do anything you want to, Maria and I will get the breakfast." Mrs. White spoke with a kindly, almost humorous inflection. Maria felt that she could go down on her knees to her. "You are very kind," said Harry Edgham, and he went out of the kitchen as one who beats a retreat before superior forces. "Maria, you just bring me the eggs, and a clean cup," said Mrs. White. "Poor man, trying to cook eggs!" said she of Maria's father, after he had gone. She was one of the women who always treat men with a sort of loving pity, as if they were children. "Here is some nice bacon," said she, rummaging in the pantry. "The eggs will be real nice with bacon. Now, Maria, you look in the ice-chest and see if there are any cold potatoes that can be warmed up. There's plenty of bread in the jar, and we'll toast that. We'll have breakfast in a jiffy. Doctors do have a hard life, and Miss Bell, she ought to have her nourishment too, if she's goin' to take care of your mother." When Maria returned from the ice-box, which stood out in the woodshed, with a plate of cold potatoes, Mrs. White was sniffing at the coffee-pot. "For goodness sake, who made this?" said she. "Father." "How much did he put in?" "He put in a little pinch." "It looks like water bewitched," said Mrs. White. "Bring me the coffee canister. You know where that is, don't you?" "Yes, ma'am." Maria watched Mrs. White pour out the coffee which her father had made, and start afresh in the proper manner. "Men are awful helpless, poor things," said Mrs. White. "This sink is in an awful condition. Did your father empty all this truck in it?" "Yes, ma'am."