"Was there a thunder-shower?" "A big one. It put our telephone out of commission." "I didn't hear it," said Elliott. "It almost pays to be sick, to find out how good it feels to be well, doesn't it? Here's a glass of milk. Drink that while I get your breakfast." "Can't I do it? I hate to make you more trouble." "Trouble? Forget that word! We like to have you here. It is good for Mother. Gives her something to think about. Can't you spend the day?" Now, Elliott wanted to get home at once; she had been longing ever since she woke up to see Mother Jess and Laura and Father Bob and Henry and Bruce and everybody else on the Cameron farm, not omitting Prince and the chickens and the "black and whitey" calf; but she thought rapidly: if it really made things any easier for the Gordons to have her here-- "Why, yes, I can stay if you want me to." It cost her something to say those words, but she said them with a smile. "Good! I'll telephone Mrs. Cameron that we will bring you home this afternoon. I'll go over to the Blisses' to do it, though maybe their telephone's knocked out, too. The one at our hired man's house isn't working. Here comes Mother with an egg the hen has just laid for your breakfast." "Just a-purpose," said Mrs. Gordon. "It's warm yet and marked 'Elliott Cameron' plain as daylight. Is my hair full of straw, Harriet?" "It is, straw and cobwebs. Where have you been, Mother? You know you haven't any business in the haymow or crawling under the old carryall. Why don't you let Alma bring in the eggs? She's little and spry." "Pooh!" said Mrs. Gordon, with one of her silent laughs. "Pooh, pooh! Alma isn't any match for old Whitefoot yet. You'd think that hen laid awake nights thinking up outlandish places to lay her eggs in. Wait till you get to be sixty, Harriet. Then you'll know you can't let folks wait on you. Before that it's all right, but after sixty you've got to do for yourself, if you don't want to grow old.--Two, dearie? I'm going to make you a drop-egg on toast for your breakfast." "Oh, no, one!" cried Elliott. "I never eat two. And can't I help? I hate to have you get my breakfast." "Why, yes, you can dish up your oatmeal," calmly cracking a second egg. "'T won't do a mite of harm to have two. Maybe you're hungrier than you think. Now Harriet, the water, and we're all ready. I'll help you finish those peas while she eats." The woman and the girl shelled peas, their fat fingers fairly flying through the pods, while Elliott devoured both eggs and a bowl of oatmeal and a pitcher of cream and a dish of blueberries and wondered how they could make their fingers move so fast. "Practice," said Mrs. Gordon in answer to the girl's query. "You do a thing over and over enough times and you get so you can't help doing it fast, if you've got any gumption at all. The quarts of peas I've shelled in my life time would feed an army, I guess." "Don't you ever get tired?"