He hastily left us in
charge of good Mrs. Rykeman, the house-mother at the Hive, promising to
come out on Saturday for the week-end at the Farm--though I don't know,
come to think of it, that the weekend of our present day outings was
known to us at that period.
[Illustration: "THE HIVE"]
Mrs. Rykeman had two forlorn, cold and tired children on her hands, one
of whom at most was a very miserable youngster, indeed, far from mother
and home and everything that makes life worth living. Our hostess took
us to her own room and made us comfortable as she could, and, presently,
as the bell rang for supper, conducted us to the dining-room. This was a
long, bare room, containing ten or twelve square tables, also bare, save
for the napkin, knife and spoon and bowl at each place. As we entered at
one end of the room, a group of girls came in at the other end bringing
pitchers of milk and piles of Boston brown bread. There was also Graham
bread or, as we now call it, whole-wheat bread, and apple-sauce, but the
meal consisted mainly of brown bread and milk.
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