The Owosso times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1897-1926, 1917-12-28

grapefruit that's on the table. Thank
goodness there's enough of that"
A few minutes later the four were
seated around the candie-lighted table.
Joan's cheeks, bit flushed from her
recent contact with the heat from the
kitchen stove, glowed softly in the
Pickering beams and her eyes sparkled
with excitement.
Maggie looked at Joan with a know
ing smile as she placed plate of soup
before her, and Joan sailed and pep
pered 1t well before she tasted 1t. She
did not relish hot milk. 1t was all
right In coffee for breakfast, and 1t
wasn't bad on toast when one was i'll
but plain hot milk In place Of soupl
Then Joan lifted her spoon to her
lips. Horrors! What she tasted was
not milk, but delicious soup. Maggie
had made mistake. Who had the
hot milk? Joan looked stealthily at
her mother. 1t couldn't be that her
mother had 1t. A faint line Of perplex-
ity, something like frOwn, would
surely mark her mothers smooth brow
II she were eating hot milk instead Of
soup. And 1t couldn't be her father.
"Dear Dad" thought Joan, she'd
speak right out in meeting and ask
why I'd taken to serving milk toast
without the toast If he'd got the wrong
plate" Then Joan stole look at Tom
ShOrtley opposite her. He must have
the hot milk. He was eating his soup
most attentively, intersperslng the
task with answers to her mothers
questions about how many pairs of
wooden socks each man In camp had
and her fathers questions about his
success in the work he was doing and
with an occasional smile at Joan her
self across the bowl of garden chry-
santhemums.
In panlc-stricken regret Joan fin
ished her soup. At first she thought
hurriedly of exchanging plates with
the guest. but she quickly decided
that silence was her only course.
And that would have been all right
II suddenly she had not become that
Dragging, affectionate note In 1t.
my favorite chicken soup, isn't Il,
10ughter7"
Eyes, dad" Joan blushed, az she
answered his smiling look.
"She's some cook. isn't she, Short
leyf And this soup Is one Of her spe-
cialties. She knows It's my favorite."
For minute Joan almost lost con-
troll Of herself. She wanted to laugh.
and she was afraid she was going to
cry. To make matters worse, Mr..
Shortley looked straight at her and
praised the soup. and said he thought
cooking was a wonderful accomplish
ment for q girl to possess.
Joan never knew how the rest Of the
dinner passed. She knew her father
cOmplimented her cooking two or three
times more, and she knew that each
time Tom Shortley Joined him. Wheth-
er she ate white Of an egg and stale |
sponge cake or whipped cream and
fresh sponke cake for dessert, she new
er could tell.
But when, wrapped In a big cape, |
she took Tom Shortley out to see her
chrysanthemums In the frosty garden |
before he left her, and he told her In |
the chill moonlight that he could not |
leave her without telling her that he
had come to realize what she meant |
to him, for moment all thought of
soup left her mind.
"You see," added Tom, almost with |
reverence, you're so wonderful so
much more wonderful here at home |
than you were last winter. That soup
Il mean, any girl who could cook like |
that and plan to work herself so that |
she could save money for wool and
sweaters for a duffer like Newell, |
you know what / mean, don't you, |
joan"
"Oh, how I hate that SOUP" cried |
Joan passiOnately. "But, Tom, -
love you. And meant to have 1t for |
myself. Oh, I'll explain some time"
II don't want any explanations"
said Tom. you've said the only thing
wanted explained"
And after Tom was gone, Joan came |
back to earth and went into the bright |
living room, where her father and |
mother 'were0itting by the fire. She |
drew little stool between them and |
sat down, her right hand on her faith |
er's arm and her left stroking her |
mothers fingers.
'That was delicious soup, dear, to |
night. You've never made It better" |
said her mother comfortably, after a |
moment.
Joan sat up with a start. Dad"
she cried. "Then, you had my dish
the hot milk. But how did you know? |
Oh. dad, I'm sorry"
II smelled the chicken" said the |
father. And the Dragging note came
into his voice. II played my part pref |
ty well, didn't I? / guessed what the |
trouble was"
"Well, I'm sure I don't know what |
you're talking about" said Mrs. Con- |
way.
"Oh, nothing, mother" said Joan, |
throwing one arm about her mothers |
neck and another about her fathers. |