Chapter XIII: Part II

In the little kitchen the table was set for two: baked potatoes, and broiled steak, and homemade bread, and pudding of Dilly's own baking; in fact it was all Dilly's work; and her cheeks were red with stove heat and exertion and excitement this October noon, as she set the chair for her father, and waited while he washed his hands and turned down his shirt sleeves and made himself nice. Dilly had been at home but forty-eight hours and had accomplished wonders; even to the baking of three loaves of perfect bread.

"Well, well, well!" said Mr. West, as he took his seat. "What a dinner this is, to be sure; fit for a king! And you made the bread, and broiled the steak, and everything. Well, well! Who would have thought you could ever do it, when you went away last summer. This is living! And you've cleaned the room, too! You're just a genius, Dilly; father hasn't had anything like this since you've been gone. But I tell you what it is, my girl, I like the red cheeks best of all. I didn't ever expect you would look like this again. Why, your cheeks are puffed out as they used to be in the old home." This is only a hint of what he said. Never was father happier to get his girl again.

All the busy afternoon Dilly lived in a kind of happy dream. It was so nice to feel strong and well; to be able to sweep, and mop the floor, and clean the little cupboard, and wash all the dishes, and do a hundred other things, and, feel tired, it is true, but not at all as though she was going to fall to pieces, as she used to do in those breathless days before she went to the mountain. Then she had learned so many new things this summer; Jeannette had known a great deal besides fine ironing, and had taught her all she could. Dilly felt sure she could keep a comfortable home for her father, and was happy. When she had her pretty tea-table arranged, with a white cloth and shining dishes, and a dear little one egg cake of her own baking, and, to crown all, a lovely cut-glass dish of late peaches which Mrs. Hammond had sent over with her love, Dilly felt that she was certainly the happiest girl in the city.

It was while they lingered at the tea-table that her father spoke the thought which was troubling him.

"There's one thing, my girl, that worries me; I can't see my way clear to have you in school, this winter; I meant to, and I tried for it with all my might; but in spite of all my planning, I'm afraid I can't bring it to pass."

"No," said Dilly bravely, "of course you can't, father; I don't think of such a thing; I'm going to keep house for you this winter; and I can study a good deal at home; Mr. Hart will lend me books, and he will help me with my lessons sometimes; he said he would. Father, you can't think what a nice, splendid young man he is! He is going to take a class in our Sunday-school; he says he wants little bits of girls, and I must help him teach them. Won't that be nice?"

In the privacy of her own little cupboard of a room, Dilly did shed two tears that night; but she dashed them bravely away, and said aloud: "To think of my crying about school, when I have so much to be glad over! I am not so 'very' old that I can't afford to wait a year; and I can learn a good deal at home; and I'll keep a beautiful house for father."