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crackedpuzzleOne of the interesting - and at times annoying - things about Francis Miller was that you never knew what time he would wake up. Sometimes he would be hard-pressed to get up before lunch, and at other days he'd be up at the crack of dawn.
This was one of those days.
He woke up to a silent house. This was nothing new, sometimes he did get up before Ford. Neither of the men worried about this; Francis was fully capable of fixing his own breakfast and to entertain himself to a few hours. So he yawned loudly, sat up on his bed and stretched his arms over his head. It wasn't quite light out yet, but the little man had no problems finding his clothes in the dusk without turning on the lights.
Whistling a bit to himself he wandered out from his room. Then he stopped, cocked his head to the side and stared at a strange phenomenon. The door to Ford's bedroom was closed. That was strange. He decided to go ask Sarah about it, but when he peeked into the room she was staying in she wasn't there.
Oh dear. This couldn't be good. There must have come gators from New Orleans to kidnap her. He'd better tell Ford about this.
But that closed door was oddly intimidating. That was why he was so careful when he opened it. What he saw inside made him grin widely. After closing the door equally carefully, he practically bounced down the stairs like a rubber ball. This was a cause for celebration!
Francis wasn't allowed to use the stove, but he was confident that he could whip up breakfast in bed for Ford and Sarah anyway. It ended with him stuffing a loaf of bread, cheese, a box of cereal, three bowls and three spoons, a jar of jam and a lemon (which was really an orange) into a grocery bag. He was sure that the bottle of milk was going to start leaking if he but it into the bag, no matter how tightly the lid was screwed on. So, breakfast bag in one hand and the milk in the other, he set off up the stairs again, singing a happy little tune. This time he wasn't at all careful when he opened the door.
"Good morning, good morning, good morning to youuuu! Put a smile on your face, it's a brand new daaaay!"
He couldn't carry a tune worth shit.
This was one of those days.
He woke up to a silent house. This was nothing new, sometimes he did get up before Ford. Neither of the men worried about this; Francis was fully capable of fixing his own breakfast and to entertain himself to a few hours. So he yawned loudly, sat up on his bed and stretched his arms over his head. It wasn't quite light out yet, but the little man had no problems finding his clothes in the dusk without turning on the lights.
Whistling a bit to himself he wandered out from his room. Then he stopped, cocked his head to the side and stared at a strange phenomenon. The door to Ford's bedroom was closed. That was strange. He decided to go ask Sarah about it, but when he peeked into the room she was staying in she wasn't there.
Oh dear. This couldn't be good. There must have come gators from New Orleans to kidnap her. He'd better tell Ford about this.
But that closed door was oddly intimidating. That was why he was so careful when he opened it. What he saw inside made him grin widely. After closing the door equally carefully, he practically bounced down the stairs like a rubber ball. This was a cause for celebration!
Francis wasn't allowed to use the stove, but he was confident that he could whip up breakfast in bed for Ford and Sarah anyway. It ended with him stuffing a loaf of bread, cheese, a box of cereal, three bowls and three spoons, a jar of jam and a lemon (which was really an orange) into a grocery bag. He was sure that the bottle of milk was going to start leaking if he but it into the bag, no matter how tightly the lid was screwed on. So, breakfast bag in one hand and the milk in the other, he set off up the stairs again, singing a happy little tune. This time he wasn't at all careful when he opened the door.
"Good morning, good morning, good morning to youuuu! Put a smile on your face, it's a brand new daaaay!"
He couldn't carry a tune worth shit.
