Graham guardian., 1918-01-11

Then Joan lifted her spoon to hei
lips. Horrors What she tasted was
not milk, but delicious soup. Maggie
had made q mistake. Who had the
hot milk? Joan looked stealthily at
her mother. It couldn't be that her
mother had It. A faint line Of perplex.
ity, something like a 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, he'd
speak right out In meeting and ask
why ia taken to serving milk toast
without the toast IL 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, interspersing the
task with answers 10 her mothers
questions about how many pairs OF
woolen 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 panic-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 1t,
daughterf"
YES. dad" Joan blushed, as she
answered his smiling look.
'She's some cook, isn't she, Short
leyl And this soup Is one Of her spe.
cialties. She knows It's my favorite."
For q minute Joan almost lost con-
troll OF herself. She wnnted 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 wonderful accomplish.
ment for 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, md 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 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 a 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 Inst 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 q duffer like Newell.
you know what I mean, don't you,
Jonnf" . ~ 49,.
"Oh, how I hate that SOUP" cried
Joan passionateiy. "But. Tom, -
love You. And I meant to have It for
myself. Oh, I'll explain some time"
r''T don't want any explanations
said Tom. "You've said the only thing
I wanted explained" ~: sc, ...
And after Tom was gone. Joan came
back toearth and went into the bright
living room, where her father and
mother were sitting by the FIRE. She
drew o little stool between them and
sat down, her right hand on her faith
er's arm and her left stroking her
mothers fingers. ..n ~.
'4That was delicious soup, dear. 10.
night. You've never made 1t 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 pret.
ty well, didn't II 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.
"Only-you see. Tom and I-Oh, dad,
I'll make a whole chicken into soup