Then a penetrating odor filled the air, and with a sudden "O dear!" she rose, put the baby on the sofa, and started toward the kitchen.
At this moment the doorbell rang.
Mrs.Porne stopped in her tracks and looked at the door.

It remained opaque and immovable.

She looked at the baby--who jiggled his spools and crowed.

Then she flew to the oven and dragged forth the bread, not much burned after all.

Then she opened the door.
A nice looking young woman stood before her, in a plain travelling suit, holding a cheap dress-suit case in one hand and a denim "roll-bag" in the other, who met her with a cheerful inquiring smile.
"Are you Mrs.Edgar Porne ?" she asked.
"I am," answered that lady, somewhat shortly, her hand on the doorknob, her ear on the baby, her nose still remorsefully in the kitchen, her eyes fixed sternly on her visitor the while; as she wondered whether it was literature, cosmetics, or medicine.
She was about to add that she didn't want anything, when the young lady produced a card from the Rev.Benjamin A.Miner, Mrs.Porne's particularly revered minister, and stated that she had heard there was a vacancy in her kitchen and she would like the place.
"Introducing Mrs.D.Bell, well known to friends of mine." "I don't know--" said Mrs.Porne, reading the card without in the least grasping what it said.