A large steaming bowl of soup flanked by four diagonally-cut sandwich halves sat across from Mrs Feild’s accustomed place at the table in the breakfast nook.
Mrs Feilds put Baby John John in the high chair next to her and sat down at the table while Theodore unfolded his napkin.
“You’re in luck today, Theodore.
I just finished making a large pot of chicken soup last night for lunches this week.
If you need any more milk there’s plenty in the refrigerator.
We have apple pie for dessert.”
Theodore looked at the plate of food in front of him in askance.
He didn’t want to insult Mrs. Feild’s cooking, but he knew he couldn’t finish all the food on the plate in front of him.
He thought that if he had a taste of the soup and one of the sandwiches she would be satisfied.
