And what a famous little cook she was! Surely
such flaky biscuit could never have been made by other hands. Bob
suddenly became surprisingly interested in kitchens and all that they
contained. The glint of tin pans, the dull ebony of the stove,
iridescent suds foaming fresh and hot,--all these took on a strange and
homely beauty quite novel in its charm. He had never dreamed before
what an incomparable Eden a kitchen was!
To slip in and fill the wood-box; to creep into the pantry and watch
the beloved head as it bent over the baking table; to be permitted to
wipe the dishes while _She_ washed them made of the simple duties tasks
for gods and goddesses. He loved the pretty way her fringed lashes
lifted, the wave of color that swept her cheek when she was startled by
his step; and there was something ravishingly confidential in her
caution:
"Be careful, Bob, not to drop Aunt Tiny's china teacups."
It was all foolish and inconsequential--the sighs, the smiles, the
silences--but they made a paradise of the grim old universe.
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