Joyce, wearied almost to the limit, yet interested in what she was doing and eager to serve one who had so served her, turned back and put all the last little touches on the table that she well knew how to put, smoothed her own pretty hair as well as she could with only the tiny comb with which her handbag was fitted, washed her face and hands at the sink, and took off the big gingham apron Mrs. Bryant had loaned, to replace it with the white one that presently fluttered down the back stairs. She giggled to herself to think what a change had come over her life in twenty-four hours. Here she was at almost the same hour getting supper in another kitchen for an entirely different set of people, utter strangers. How strange and interesting! How wonderful to have the opportunity to thus work her way into a bit of land for her house! How kind of the Heavenly Father to fix it all for her! How good it was that she could cook, and had the ability to help in this time of need! But there was no time to meditate. The kitchen clock was striking with a business-like clang, and the honk of an automobile horn could be heard coming down the street. Mrs. Bryant rustled down in a gray crêpe dress and her hair fluffed up becomingly. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks wore a pretty little touch of nervous color as she looked out the door. “I think they are coming!” she said eagerly, and then Joyce glancing out behind her saw looming clumsily in the distance, blocking up the street and grown to most enormous proportions, her little vine clad office riding down behind the bright little car that was speeding rapidly toward the Bryant gate. “Oh, Mrs. Bryant!” breathed Joyce in alarm, “My house is coming too, and you haven’t told me where to put it yet!” “Your house?” said the preoccupied lady half impatiently, “Oh, yes. Why, put it anywhere you like for tonight. Just don’t get into the garden. You won’t have to go out and see to it, will you? Because I can’t spare you now.” “Only for a second,” said Joyce happily. “I’ve got to pay the men.” “Well, wait till the meat is on the table and everything passed. Don’t forget the coffee. There they are. Now I must go.” Joyce, starry-eyed, tired to death but smiling, began to take up the dinner and carry it into the diningroom. She could hear the hum of voices in greeting, the people going upstairs, the splashing of water as the guests made rapid toilets, and all the time her senses were listening for the coming of the truck and trying to time her actions so that she might go out and tell the men where to put the house, and yet not interfere with any of her duties as waitress. She flew out at last while the guests were being seated and told the chief about where she thought the house should stand.