Nancy, staring about at the four walls of her room in very much the same way she had done that first day of her coming to Happy House, realized that they were not so ugly, after all. Their height gave a sense of coolness and space; the branches of an old cherry tree brushed her windows; from below came all sorts of sweet smells out of Jonathan's garden; the incessant twittering of birds and the humming of insects made the summer air teem with busy, happy life. It was pleasant, she sighed--much pleasanter than a flat in Harlem in July! "Well, I won't pack until I get my dishonorable discharge, and I can't get away until Webb's stage goes, anyway! I'll take Miss Milly once more to the orchard." Miss Milly went to the orchard so often now that it had become a part of almost every day's routine, and it was no longer necessary that B'lindy and Jonathan should make up the party, though they went more often than not. This day Aunt Milly declared everything particularly nice, but she thought it was because she and Nancy were alone--she could not know that Nancy had been doing her best to make it an afternoon Aunt Milly would never forget--"because it's probably the last!" They lingered in the orchard until almost supper-time. Then Nancy sought the kitchen. She liked to drop in on B'lindy, help her in some small way in the preparation of the evening meal, and chat at the same time. She was astounded, now, to find Aunt Sabrina, with a very red face, bending over the kitchen stove. B'lindy, sitting very straight in the chair by the window, gave the explanation--resentfully. "'Pears to be hash ain't good enough for supper. Had it all fixed for the cookin' and I guess it's fair 'nough for anyone to eat and I can't abide left-overs hangin' 'round. But Miss S'briny says the supper to-night's got to be extry nice and Miss Anne's got to have waffles and _she'll_ cook 'em herself, seein' how old B'lindy that's cooked 'em nigh onto fifty years, can't cook 'em _good_ 'nough for Miss Anne!" Miss Sabrina's face was bent over the waffles--Nancy could not see it. The moment was too solemn to permit her to so much as smile. She said very gravely, almost reprovingly: "You _know_, B'lindy, that you _can't_ make waffles as good as Aunt Sabrina can and I've been hungry for days for waffles!" Nancy knew that, after that night, waffles would always mean something more to her than merely a concoction of food stuffs particularly dear to her palate--they'd mean the momentary triumph of reason and justice, the defeat of the Mrs. Eaton-kind, and the pitiful attempt of a very old and a very proud woman to "give happiness." CHAPTER XV GUNS AND STRING BEANS "Claire darling-- "Almost two weeks since I wrote to you. Will you love me any more? "As I write I am all alone on the edge of a very little pool of light reflected from my little lamp that was only intended to see me into bed and not to burn half the night through while I write to my pal.