“What may I bring you for a light lunch before you go to bed?” “Oh, could I have a bite of something?” “If only I am fortunate enough to have anything you will care for. What about a bowl of hot milk and a slice of toast?” “Why I think that would be just the thing!” “Excuse me,” said the Harvester rising. He went to the kitchen and they could hear him moving around. “I wish the big brute would take his beast along,” growled Mr. Alexander Herron. “Come, Bel,” ordered the Girl. “Let's go to the kitchen.” The dog instantly arose and followed her. “What can I do to help?” she asked as they reached the door. “Remain where you won't dazzle my eyes,” said the Harvester, “until I help the gentle lady and the gentle man to bed.” Presently he came with a white cloth, two spoons, and a plate of bread. He spread the cloth on the table, laid the spoons on it, and opening the little cupboard, took out a long toasting fork, and sticking it into a slice of bread, he held it over the coals. When it grew golden brown he lifted the table beside the chair, and brought a bowl of scalded milk. “Marcella, that stuff will be too smoky for you! Your stomach will rebel at it.” “Grandfather, there will not be a suspicion of odour,” said the Girl. “I have had it that way often.” “Then no wonder you came from this place looking like a picked crane, if that is a sample of what you were fed on!” The face of the Harvester grew redder than the heat of the fire necessitated, but at the ringing laugh of the Girl he set his teeth and went on toasting bread. Grandmother crumbled some in the milk and picking up the spoon tested the combination. She was very hungry, and it was good. She began eating with relish. “Alexander, you will be the loser if you don't have some of this,” she said. “It's just delicious!” “Maybe smoked spoon victuals are proper for invalid women,” he retorted, “but they are mighty thin diet for a hardy man.” “What about a couple of eggs and some beef extract?” suggested the cook. “Sounds more sensible by a long shot.” “Ruth, you make this toast,” said the Harvester and disappeared. Presently he placed before his guest a couple of eggs poached in milk, a steaming bowl of beef juice, and a plate of toast. For one instant the Harvester thought this was going into the fire, the next a slice was picked up and smelled testily. The Girl sat on her grandfather's chair arm, and breaking a morsel of toast dipped it into the broth and tasted it. “Oh but that is good!” she cried. “Why haven't I some also? Am I supposed to have no 'tummy'?” “Your turn next,” said the Harvester, as he again gave her the fork and went to the kitchen. When he returned and served the Girl he found her grandfather eating heartily. “Why I think this is fun,” said the gentle lady. “I haven't had such a fine time in ages. I love the heat of the flame on my body and things taste so good. I could go to sleep without any narcotic, right now.”