In one of the
end cans she arranged her red leaves, and in the other the fancy grass.
Two men, watching her, went away proud of themselves and said that she
was "a born lady." She laughingly caught up a paper bag and fitted it
jauntily to her head in imitation of a cook's cap. Then she ground the
coffee, and beat a couple of eggs to put in, "because there is company,"
she gravely explained to the cook. She asked that delighted individual
if he did not like it best that way, and he said he did not know,
because he never had a chance to taste it. The Angel said that was
her case exactly--she never had, either; she was not allowed anything
stronger than milk. Then they laughed together.
She told the cook about camping with her father, and explained that
he made his coffee that way. When the steam began to rise from the big
boiler, she stuffed the spout tightly with clean marshgrass, to keep the
aroma in, placed the boiler where it would only simmer, and explained
why. The influence of the Angel's visit lingered with the cook through
the remainder of his life, while the men prayed for her frequent return.
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