pleased. “I put in a pretty good hunk of cake. Did you divide it with any one?”
“Why, yes, I did,” admitted Elnora.
“Who?”
This was becoming uncomfortable. “I ate the biggest piece myself,” said Elnora, “and gave the rest to a couple of boys named Jimmy and Billy and a girl named Belle. They said it was the very best cake they ever tasted in all their lives.”
Mrs. Comstock sat straight. “I used to be a master hand at spice cake,” she boasted. “But I'm a little out of practice. I must get to work again. With the very weeds growing higher than our heads, we should raise plenty of good stuff to eat on this land, if we can't afford anything else but taxes.”
Elnora laughed and hurried up stairs to change her dress. Margaret Sinton came that night bringing a beautiful blue one in its place, and carried away the other to launder.
“Do you mean to say those dresses are to be washed every two days?” questioned Mrs. Comstock.
“They have to be, to look fresh,” replied Margaret. “We want our girl sweet as a rose.”
“Well, of all things!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “Every two days! Any girl who can't keep a dress clean longer than that is a dirty girl. You'll wear the goods out and fade the colours with so much washing.”
“We'll have a clean girl, anyway.”
“Well, if you like the job you can have it,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I don't mind the washing, but I'm so inconvenient with an iron.”
Elnora sat late that night working over her lessons. The next morning she put on her blue dress and ribbon and in those she was a picture. Mrs. Comstock caught her breath with a queer stirring around her heart, and looked twice to be sure of what she saw. As Elnora gathered her books her mother silently gave her the lunch box.
“Feels heavy,” said Elnora gaily. “And smelly! Like as not I'll be called upon to divide again.”
“Then you divide!” said Mrs. Comstock. “Eating is the one thing we don't have to economize on, Elnora. Spite of all I can do food goes to waste in this soil every day. If you can give some of those city children a taste of the real thing, why, don't be selfish.”
Elnora went down the road thinking of the city children with whom she probably would divide. Of course, the bridge would be occupied again. So she stopped and opened the box.
“I don't want to be selfish,” murmured Elnora, “but it really seems as if I can't give away this lunch. If mother did not put love into it, she's substituted something that's likely to fool me.”
She almost felt her steps lagging as she approached the bridge. A very hungry dog had been added to the trio of children. Elnora loved all dogs, and as usual, this one came to her in friendliness. The children said “Good morning!” with alacrity, and another paper parcel lay conspicuous.
“How are you this morning?” inquired Elnora.
“All right!” cried the three, while the dog sniffed ravenously at the lunch box, and beat a perfect tattoo with his tail.
“How did you like the bologna?” questioned Billy eagerly.
“One of the girls took me to lunch at her home yesterday,” answered Elnora.
Dawn broke beautifully over Billy's streaked face. He caught the package and thrust it toward Elnora.
“Then maybe you'd like to try the bologna to-day!”
The dog leaped in glad apprehension of something, and Belle scrambled to her feet and took a step forward. The look of famished greed in her eyes was more than Elnora could endure. It was not that she cared for the food so much. Good things to eat had been in abundance all her life. She wanted with this lunch to try to absorb what she felt must be an expression of some sort from her mother, and if it were not a manifestation of love, she did not know what to think it. But it was her mother who had said “be generous.” She knelt on the bridge. “Keep back the dog!” she warned the elder boy.
She opened the box and divided the milk between Billy and the girl. She gave each a piece of cake leaving one and a sandwich. Billy pressed forward eagerly, bitter disappointment on his face, and the elder boy forgot his charge.
“Aw, I thought they'd be meat!” lamented Billy.
Elnora could not endure that.
“There is!” she said gladly. “There is a little pigeon bird. I want a teeny piece of the breast, for a sort of keepsake, just one bite, and you can have the rest among you.”
Elnora drew the knife from its holder and cut off the wishbone. Then she held the bird toward the girl.
“You can divide it,” she said. The dog made a bound and seizing the squab sprang from the bridge and ran for life. The girl and boy hurried after him. With awful eyes Billy stared and swore tempestuously. Elnora caught him and clapped her hand over the little mouth. A delivery wagon came tearing down the street, the horse running full speed, passed the fleeing dog with the girl and boy in pursuit, and stopped at the bridge. High school girls began to roll from all sides of it.
“A rescue! A rescue!” they shouted.
It was Ellen Brownlee and her crowd, and every girl of them carried a big parcel. They took in the scene as they approached. The fleeing dog with something in its mouth, the half-naked girl and boy chasing it told the story. Those girls screamed with laughter as they watched the pursuit.
“Thank goodness, I saved the wishbone!” said Elnora. “As usual, I can prove that there was a bird.” She turned toward the box. Billy had improved the time. He had the last piece of cake in one hand, and the last bite of salad disappeared in one great gulp. Then the girls shouted again.
“Let's have a sample ourselves,” suggested one. She caught up the box and handed out the remaining sandwich. Another girl divided it into bites each little over an inch square, and then she lifted the cup lid and deposited a preserved strawberry on each bite. “One, two, three, altogether now!” she cried.
“You old mean things!” screamed Billy.
In an instant he was down in the road and handfuls of dust began to fly among them. The girls scattered before him.
“Billy!” cried Elnora. “Billy! I'll never give you another bite, if you throw dust on any one!”
Then Billy dropped the dust, bored both fists into his eyes, and fled sobbing into Elnora's new blue skirt. She stooped to meet him and consolation began. Those girls laughed on. They screamed and shouted until the little bridge shook.
“To-morrow might as well be a clear day,” said Ellen, passing around and feeding the remaining berries to the girls as they could compose themselves enough to take them. “Billy, I admire your taste more than your temper.”
Elnora looked up. “The little soul is nothing but skin and bones,” she said. “I never was really hungry myself; were any of you?”
“Well, I should say so,” cried a plump, rosy girl. “I'm famished right now. Let's have breakfast immediate!”
“We got to refill this box first!” said Ellen Brownlee. “Who's got the butter?” A girl advanced with a wooden tray.
“Put it in the preserve cup, a little strawberry flavour won't hurt it. Next!” called Ellen.
A loaf of bread was produced and Ellen cut off a piece which filled the sandwich box.
“Next!” A bottle of olives was unwrapped. The grocer's boy who was waiting opened that, and Ellen filled the salad dish.
“Next!”
A bag of macaroons was produced and the cake compartment filled.
“Next!”
“I don't suppose this will make quite as good dog feed as a bird,” laughed a girl holding open a