After swallowing the first tablespoonful, the
patient winked.
"I hope it did not scald his throat," said Sylvia, "Do you know what
'scald' is in French?"
"I cannot remember," said I, "you had better let the next spoonful cool
a little,"--but the patient opened his mouth for more.
"_C'est potage_," he said, "_mais il est bon_."
"I am sorry I made soup of it," I said to Sylvia, "but I am sure it
tastes like coffee."
We continued to feed the old man, who absorbed the new-fangled broth as
fast as it was given to him, until a voice behind me made us both jump.
"Sister Hagar," said the voice, "what does this mean?"
"Goodness, Mother Anastasia," cried Sylvia, "you made me scald the
outside of his throat."
At the foot of the bed stood Mother Anastasia clad in her severest gray,
her brows knit and her lips close pressed.
"Sister Hagar," she repeated, "what is all this?"
I let down the old man's head, and Sylvia, placing the almost empty bowl
upon the table, replied serenely:--
"Mr. Vanderley is making a beginning in brotherhood work--the
brotherhood of the House of Martha, you know. I think it would work
splendidly. Just look around and see what he has done. He has made this
charming cottage out of an old rattle-trap house.
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