The Choir Invisible

Later, she was kneeling before the red logs of the fireplace with one hand

shielding her delicate face from the blistering heat; in the other holding

the shingle on which richly made and carefully shaped was the bread of

Indian maize that he liked. She did not rise until she had placed it where

it would be perfectly browned; otherwise he would have been disappointed and

the evening would have been spoiled.