AT THE STATION
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to a turn, and resting on a big tin platter was the main dish. There were thick slices, too, of well-baked bread, though nothing in the way of butter or vegetables. But Jenkins filled each large cup from the capacious pot simmering on the stove, and the fragrant odor was delightful to the keen appetites. Condensed milk answered well for the real article, and few meals were more palatable than that eaten by Alden at this mail station in the wilds of the West. Right glad was he that his host had insisted upon his tarrying for that purpose. Nothing could have braced him better for the task before him.
