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But Zephania's vocal efforts were forgotten for the moment in the annoying discovery that he had neglected to provide washing accommodations. He had intended using the kitchen sink for ablutions, but with Zephania in possession of that apartment it was out of the question. It was evident that if he meant to wash in the kitchen he would have to get up earlier. What time of day was it, anyhow?
The Doctor turned toward the lilac hedge and the neighboring cottage, listening. Eve laughed, merrily. "Why, that's Zephania," she said. "'We shall sleep, but not forever, There will be a glorious dawn! We shall meet to part, no, never, On the resurrection morn!" sang Zephania, in her piping voice. The Doctor smiled. Then he nodded sideways in the direction of the voice.
Zephania eyed the lilac interestedly. "Well, something of that sort. Only in this case there isn't any murderer." "A thief?" asked Zephania, eagerly and hopefully. "Not even a thief," laughed Wade. "Just just somebody I want very much to find. I suppose, Zephania, you know about every one in the village, don't you?" "Pretty nearly, I guess." "Good.
You might fry the eggs and toast the bread. I guess that will do for this morning." "Yes, sir, thank you," answered Zephania, politely. "Wouldn't you rather have the eggs poached?" "Er why, yes, if you can do it." "I can cook eggs eleven ways," said Zephania, proudly. "Are you going to eat breakfast in here or in there?" She nodded past Wade at the sitting-room. "Well, what do you think?"
The eggs were snowy cushions of delight on golden tablets of toast, and the butter was hued like old ivory. Zephania objected to condensed milk, however, and suggested that she be allowed to bring a quart of "real milk" with her when she came in the mornings.
He wasn't leaving Eden Village for good and all. There was comfort in that thought. Some day, probably next summer, he would come back. By that time he would have gotten over it in all probability. Until such time Mr. Zenas Prout and Zephania, in fact the whole Prout family, there to take care of the cottage. Zephania was to sweep it once a month from top to bottom. Wade smiled.
In the neglected orchard the birds were chattering and piping, and from a nearby field came the excited cawing of crows. It was corn-planting time. Wade ate his breakfast by the open window. He didn't know in which of the three ways Zephania had prepared his coffee, but it was excellent, and even the condensed milk couldn't spoil it.
Closing the door muffled the strains that floated down from upstairs, where Zephania, oppressed, but defiant of sorrow, was singing: "'My days are gliding swiftly by, And I, a pilgrim stranger, Would not detain them as they fly! Those hours of toil and danger." After awhile, his pipe having gone out again from neglect, he strapped and locked the trunk, glanced at his watch and took up his hat.
Wade clasped his knees with his arms and frowned perplexedly at the big stove. It was distinctly threatening. He wondered how she intended to accomplish her awful purpose. Perhaps she had stopped in the woodshed and secured the axe. To do for him! Then he laughed and sprang out of bed. It was Zenas Prout's girl, and she had come to get his breakfast. "Zephania!" he called. "Yes, sir?"
Folks that think she's too pale ought to have seen her yesterday afternoon." "Why is that?" "'Cause she was just pink all over," answered Zephania. "I took some eggs up to her house and just when I was coming out she came up on the porch. She looked like; she'd been running and her face was just as pink as as that lamp-mat!"
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