Two chops sat sociably on a large plate; a little mound of spinach rested on one side of them, a huge baked potato on the other. She slid the plate softly from the metal shelf, peeping apprehensively at Maggie, tumbled the rolls on to the top, and sped into the dining-room. From a drawer in the sideboard she abstracted a silver fork which she slipped into her pocket, adding, after a moment of consideration, a salt-shaker. Stepping to the door, she paused on the little porch for a hasty survey. The coast seemed clear, and she sped across the yard, the silver jingling in her pocket. She was safe from the back, but a flank movement on Maggie's part would have been most disastrous, and it was with full appreciation of the audacity of her performance that she scudded around the barn and gained the cherry-tree behind it. The young man was sitting on the grass, his head against the tree; his eyes brightened as she approached. "Have any luck?" he inquired. She held out the plate, and, as he took it, fumbled in her pocket for the fork. "It's all cold," she murmured apologetically, "but I knew Maggie'd never warm it. Do you mind?" "Not a bit," he answered, with a whimsical glance at her eagerness to serve him. "I always _did_ like greens," he added, as he accepted the fork and attacked the spinach. "Here, William Thayer!" He handed one of the chops to the dog, and stared as Caroline drew out the salt-cellar. "Did you--well, by--that's pretty kind, now!" "Potatoes are so nasty without it," she explained. "Yes, that's why I don't us'ally eat 'em," he replied. There was a moment's silence, while he ate with the frank morning appetite of twenty, and Caroline watched him, her sympathetic jaws moving with his, her eyes shining with hospitality. "Nice place you've got here," he suggested, breaking a roll. "Yes. I _wish_ I'd brought you some butter, but I didn't dare cut any off; it was in a jar, and it clatters so. ("Oh, that's all right!") This is nicer than it used to be out here. It _was_ the chicken-yard, and ashes and things got put here; but nobody keeps chickens any more, and this is all new grass. They took down the back part of the barn, too, and painted it, and now it's the stables, or you _can_ say carriage-house," she explained instructively. He threw his chop-bone to William Thayer and drew a long breath. "That was pretty good," he said, "and I'm much obliged to you, Miss." Caroline swelled with importance at the title. "I must have walked four or five miles, and it's not such fun with an empty stomach. I came from Deepdale." "Oh, how lovely!" cried she. "By the pond?" "Yes, by the pond. I gave William Thayer a swim, and I had a little nap. It's nice and pretty all around there. I cut some sassafras root; want some?" He felt in his pockets, and produced a brown, aromatic stump; Caroline sucked at it with a relish. "Where are you going now?" she asked respectfully, patting William Thayer's back while his master caressed his ear.