depend upon it. Women are kittle-cattle, every one on 'em, but she's the worst I seen yet. I knowed we'd have trouble with her the minute I set eyes on her."
"But why?" cried Mrs. Bye. "Why don't she want them to eat their porridge same as usual?"
Charley wagged his head. "Just spite, missus. She seen you had a big pot o' porridge made, and she undertook that you'd have it left on you."
"Well, I'll teach her! I'll get Mrs. Jessop after her. . . ."
But there was one boarder who did not weakly ask for Forces. This was Kirke. Eye to eye, he and Delight faced each other, then he bit off the one word:
"Parritch."
Delight's lids fell. She swayed to the kitchen and said to Mrs. Bye:
"Forces."
When the dish was set before Kirke, a heavy scowl darkened his white forehead. "I asked for parritch," he snarled.
Delight leaned over him almost tenderly, his angry eyes caught the pearly curve beneath her chin. "There aren't any porridge," she breathed. "There's just Forces."
Forces indeed. Terrible forces at work to make Kirke and all the others eat just what she chose that they should have!
So busy was Delight that she forgot for a while to look for Albert Masters. But when the men were eating their finnan haddie and fried potatoes, she suddenly thought with remorse that she had forgotten her mission for May. Her eyes flew along the bent heads. They dwelt a moment on Kirke's narrow sleek one at the end of the table and then moved on. Ah! that must be he. That round, fair head, those round rosy cheeks, those childlike blue
