Paul Ralston by Mary Jane Holmes

The May days were growing longer and warmer. Many of the cottages were open and there was a feeling of summer everywhere, when suddenly the weather changed. The sea looked green and angry, the wind blew cold across it from the east, bringing a drenching rain which, beginning in the early morning, lasted through the day with a persistency which precluded anything like intercourse with the outside world unless it were necessary. Miss Hansford had been alone all day, with no one to speak to but her cat, Jim. To him and to herself she had talked a good deal of the past, the present and the future. The present was dreary enough, with the thick fog on the water and the steady fall of rain, which increased rather than diminished as the night came on. It was some little diversion to carry pans and pails to places where the roof leaked, and to crowd bits of sacking against the doors, under which pools of water were finding their way. When this was done and darkness had settled down and her lamp was lighted, she began to wonder what she should do next to pass the time.

"I ain't hungry, but it'll take my mind if I get myself and Jim some supper. I b'lieve I'll make griddle cakes. Paul used to be so fond of 'em when he was a boy. I wish he was here to-night," she said, as she replenished her fire in her small kitchen and busied herself with her preparations for her evening meal. "I shall sit here by the stove where I can lift the cakes from the griddle to my plate and save steps," she thought, and, bringing a small round table or stand from the dining room, she covered it with a towel, placed upon it a plate, a cup and a saucer and a dish of milk for Jim, who was badly spoiled, and was to take his supper with her.