The two men entered the shack. There was nothing there except the little cooking-stove, a few kitchen utensils hung on pegs on the walls, an old table with a few dishes, two chairs, and a lounge over which was spread an ancient buffalo-skin. Stephen sat down, and Christopher fried the eggs. Then he bade the minister draw up, and the two men breakfasted. “Ain't it great, Mr. Wheaton?” said Christopher. “You are a famous cook, Mr. Dodd,” laughed Stephen. He was thoroughly enjoying himself, and the breakfast was excellent. “It ain't that,” declared Christopher in his exalted voice. “It ain't that, young man. It's because the food is blessed.” Stephen stayed all day on Silver Mountain. He and Christopher went fishing, and had fried trout for dinner. He took some of the trout home to Myrtle. Myrtle received them with a sort of state which defied the imputation of sadness. “Did he seem comfortable?” she asked. “Comfortable, Mrs. Dodd? I believe it will mean a new lease of life to your husband. He is an uncommon man.” “Yes, Christopher is uncommon; he always was,” assented Myrtle. “You have everything you want? You were not timid last night alone?” asked the minister. “Yes, I was timid. I heard queer noises,” said Myrtle, “but I sha'n't be alone any more. Christopher's niece wrote me she was coming to make a visit. She has been teaching school, and she lost her school. I rather guess Ellen is as uncommon for a girl as Christopher is for a man. Anyway, she's lost her school, and her brother's married, and she don't want to go there. Besides, they live in Boston, and Ellen, she says she can't bear the city in spring and summer. She wrote she'd saved a little, and she'd pay her board, but I sha'n't touch a dollar of her little savings, and neither would Christopher want me to. He's always thought a sight of Ellen, though he's never seen much of her. As for me, I was so glad when her letter came I didn't know what to do. Christopher will be glad. I suppose you'll be going up there to see him off and on.” Myrtle spoke a bit wistfully, and Stephen did not tell her he had been urged to come often. “Yes, off and on,” he replied. “If you will just let me know when you are going, I will see that you have something to take to him--some bread and pies.” “He has some chickens there,” said Stephen. “Has he got a coop for them?” “Yes, he had one rigged up. He will have plenty of eggs, and he carried up bacon and corn meal and tea and coffee.” “I am glad of that,” said Myrtle. She spoke with a quiet dignity, but her face never lost its expression of bewilderment and resignation.