XII
IT was nearly twenty minutes later that he returned with a wooden box in his arms.
"There aren't any trays in St. Anselme," he said as he kicked the door shut. "Nor baskets, either. So I got a box. I'm afraid this isn't a very dainty repast, but it seems to be the best the town can afford." He set the box on the floor and displayed the contents. "Coffee, bread and butter, fried venison and stewed fruit."
"Lovely!" she cried.
"Well, wait and see. The coffee doesn't look like any coffee I ever saw outside a mining camp, and I'm afraid the meat is pretty cold by now, I had to bring the stuff about a half-mile."
"What a shame! I dare say you're just frozen again."
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