"I will, I will, Micah, only try me," and genuine tears started in her eyes. Captain White flung himself back on the sofa and tried not to look at her. "There'll be too much to do," he said, gloomily. "No, no. I'll do anything." "Would you give me hot biscuits for breakfast, and strong coffee,--none of your slops, and you've got to rinse out the coffee-pot every morning and not hold it over from one morning to another--" "Yes, yes--" "Keep still till you hear what more's to come. Always hot potatoes, fried, or in chips, or some fancy way, and a chop, or steak, or liver and bacon, or some such thing, and corn bread--" "I'll do it," she sighed, "though it will be an awful trouble, and I'll have to get up an hour earlier." "And fruit to start with. Always apples, or oranges, or pears, grapes, peaches, or whatever's in the market." "Yes, you shall have it, Micah." "And for dinner, soup always, and fish, and two kinds of meat, and three kinds of pudding or pie, and more fruit and coffee and tea." "But the money," she gasped,--"it will cost a fortune." "Ain't I going to pay you,--just you wait; and a hot supper such as you get at hotels. None of your bread and butter and preserves and weak tea arrangements. Now, do you hear all that, and can you do it?" "Yes, Micah, I can," she said, firmly. She had grasped the situation now. "But you've got to pay me--" "Well, how much?--name your price now, and don't cheat me." "I'll have to reckon it up; but I should say it would be as much as fourteen dollars." "Fourteen dollars!--call it twenty. I'll pay you twenty dollars a week if you'll set me such a table as I describe. Mind, no scrimping, and no setting before me dishes that ain't for the rest of the family, to make me feel mean. And you've got to have enough for me to bring a friend in any time I choose. And any day you don't suit me, I'll clear out to the hotel. I am going down there now to get my dinner, and you can spend the afternoon laying in supplies," and, holding both hands over his mouth, he rushed from the room. He left his cousin standing in the middle of the floor, a prey to resentful suspicion. Her eye fell on Derrice's half-eaten jam roll, and she was just muttering, "I believe that girl is at the bottom of it," when the girl herself stood before her. "Is Captain White ill?" she asked, in concern. "No; he is fussing about his food. Did he say anything to you about it?" "No," replied Derrice, calmly, and going back to the parlour she watched the lean ex-sailor rolling down the street in a more eccentric fashion than usual.