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Just as though he meant to crack things wide open. By Jove! I have it! Your name's Zephania!" A baker's cart ambled by beyond the hedge, the driver leaning around the corner of the vehicle to regard the cottage curiously. Out on the common a bay horse, his halter-rope dragging under his feet, cropped the lush grass. "You're happy," murmured Wade. "The bird's happy. Zephania's happy.
And, of course, there was the stirring occasion of Zephania's return to duty, Zephania being patently proud of the disturbance she had created, and full of quaint comments on life, death, and immortality, those subjects seemingly having engaged her mind largely during her illness.
From the floor above came the swish of the broom and Zephania's voice raised in joyful song: "'I was a wand'ring sheep, I did not love the fold; I did not love my Shepherd's voice, I would not be controlled. I was a wayward child, I did not love my home; I did not love my Father's voice, I loved afar to roam."
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?
And there were plenty of strawberries and much cake Zephania's very best maple-layer and ice-cream from Manchester, a trifle soft, but, as Eve maintained, all the better when you put it over the berries. And breathe it softly lest Eden Village hear there was champagne!
Rattle-bang went the poker, clicketty-click went the shaker, and triumphant over all rose Zephania's shrill young voice: "'O Beulah land, sweet Beulah land, As on thy highest mount I stand; I look away across the sea, Where mansions are prepared for me." "She has a cheerful presence," muttered Wade. "I wonder if she does that all the time."
It sounded as though she were sitting on the back doorstep. "The door is unlocked. Come in. You'll find things to eat on the table and things to cook with in the closets. I'll be dressed in a few minutes." He heard the door open as he closed his own portal, and in a moment a stove-lid fell clanging to the floor. After that Zephania's presence in the house was never for a moment in doubt.
She lives over there across the common, in the little yellowish house with the vines; see?" "Yes, yes, I see. That's where Miss Sampson lives, eh? Well, well! But we were speaking about Miss Walton, weren't we?" "Yes, sir. Miss Walton's a young lady and as pretty as as " Zephania's words failed her and she looked about apparently in search of a simile.
That seemed to cheer him up quite a bit, for he turned away from the mirror with a less hopeless expression on his face and began to unpack his valise and distribute the contents about the room. Later he borrowed some of Zephania's hot water from the singing kettle and shaved himself.
From the kitchen came a loud clatter of dishes and pans and Zephania's voice raised in song: "'We shall sleep, but not forever, There will be a glorious dawn; We shall meet to part, no, never, On the resurrection morn!" When one has spent six years prospecting and mining in Colorado and the Southwest one has usually ceased to be capable of surprise at any tricks Fate may spring.
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