Mary tried to make friends with them, but they were not used to strangers, so showed her only averted faces and pouting red lips, which made her understand that their friendship must be left to time.
When the luggage had been brought up from the boat, Mrs.Burton had the kettle boiling, and then she sent one of the men across with a boat to the store, giving him a message for Miles, which resulted in a basket of fresh fish coming over at once.

These, delicately broiled over a fire of spruce chips, and served piping hot, made, as Mr.Selincourt observed, a supper fit for a king.
Mrs.Burton stayed with her small daughters to share the meal, and if she thought ruefully of the family over the river, who would have to cook their own supper, and also go without the fish which had been intended for them, she said nothing about it, One must always suffer something in the give-and-take of life, and there were plenty of canned goods at the store which might serve at a pinch.
"Now I must go," she said, when the supper dishes had been washed.
"It is time that Beth and Lotta went to bed, while my father will be wearying for me if I am too long away." "Your father ?" broke from Mary in surprise, then she stopped abruptly, realizing that her acquaintance with Mrs.Burton was too short for over-much curiosity.
"I am a widow," the little woman answered, with the simple dignity which became her so well.

"I live with my father, or did; but now, strictly speaking, it is he, poor man, who lives with us, and Katherine earns the living for us all." "Katherine is your sister ?" asked Mary, and now there was tender sympathy in her tone, and she was understanding why Mrs.Burton's eyes were so sad.
"Katherine is my younger sister, and she is just wonderful," the little woman said, with love and admiration thrilling her tones.
"She has done a man's work all the winter, and she is keeping the business together as well as poor Father could have done.".