She would board with the doctor’s family two weeks, resting. After that time she would be given her board, week by week, among the patrons of the school, as the custom was, for the pay was small. Her work at the Seminary had given her the teacher’s credential. “I got no uneasiness but you’ll be able to teach those youngones a right smart,” Dr. Bradley said. “First we must put a little meat on your bones.” The food was set on the table by the doctor’s wife, a large, breathy woman who sank comfortably into her ampleness and formed a bulwark against which their children leaned. She talked habitually of her work, of the food she prepared. Theodosia saw that she stilled her curiosity about herself, saw that she turned it into delicate sauces and the creamy essence of meats, nourishment for the body. The woman set upon each preparation diligently, carefully choosing an egg, rejecting a cream, tasting, studying, whipping, shredding, kneading, stirring, each dish brought to the board with a gesture of deep concern as she slightly leaned toward it to give it a last scrutiny. These attitudes were her habitual replies to her husband. The table was laid in the kitchen, for the days were cool and here was the most snug warmth. The doctor came from his office, a little room at the end of the yard, and sat at the head of the table. Sometimes he brought a patient with him, or a traveler, for there was always an extra place prepared. The heavy savors would arise and mingle sweetly with their hungers, with the faint odor of smoke from the cooking fire where the wood burned away now that it was no longer wanted. The doctor brought a breath of cold air with him and this lingered about his clothing and spread through the odorous warmth. When he was seated he bowed his head briefly and asked a blessing in a psalm-like sentence, and the little children would suck at their spoons and put their hands into their empty plates, an ear attentive to the blessing, of which they understood nothing but the amen, their hungers like the hungers of some small gentle beasts. The ceremony of carving and of passing plates was swiftly over, subordinated to their cravings. “Begin on your plate while it’s hot,” the doctor would say. “No waiten. No use to make any more fuss. Eat your victuals while they’re warm.”