I represented to him with deference that none of these dainties were regarded by epicures as the natural concomitants of ptarmigan.
“More of your silly English customs,” he said, “to reject simple nourishing food, and heat the blood with these unnatural kickshaws.”
Whereupon a happy thought struck me, and I commandeered from the kitchen the vegetables which I knew were even then simmering to perfection for Peggy’s supper. A noble broccoli was the result—the very largest I ever saw—and reposing on the very largest dish. How his eyes glistened! It was transferred bodily to his plate, and, drenched in a bottle of salad oil, was, he admitted, no bad substitute for the “cereals” of commerce.
Again I followed up my fortunate idea, and defrauded Peggy of five noble apple dumplings, four of which he accounted for on the spot, and begged (with a smile of repletion which comforted me exceedingly) that the remaining one might be reserved to furnish forth his breakfast table before he went his way in the morning. But the attempt to reorganise my kitchen on a system to suit his digestion proved too heavy a problem for Peggy and me. So for the remainder of his visit he and I went our separate ways, as far as the meals were concerned. At dinner he seemed happy with vegetables and puddings, and for the rest of the day he drank tea unlimited, and refreshed himself at intervals with apples, bananas, nuts and cakes, with which I was careful to garnish the sideboard during the remainder of his stay. “Monkey Brand,” I called him, and he did not resent the title, “being proud,” he said, “to resemble his ancestors.” For he was a kindly genial fellow, and never took a joke amiss.
Indeed, his simplicity and cheeriness quite won my heart, and reconciled me almost to the trouble of catering for him.
But Peggy was far less amenable, and never became tolerant of his ways. I believe she persuaded herself to the end that he was a Frenchman, who for some evil purpose was masquerading as an American, and pretended, from sheer ‘contrariness’ or worse, to have forgotten his mother-tongue.
CHAPTER X
It was Gertie’s birthday at the Rectory, and there was a sound of merry-making in the air, but what form it would take was held a secret from all of us who were not required to take an active part in its celebration. Only I saw great signs of preparation in progress both at the Rectory and the Manor House. Peggy’s aid was called in to help in the cutting and sewing of many mysterious garments. Music, too, I saw was to be held in requisition, for there was a sound of constant rehearsals in the Rectory and Manor House drawing-rooms.
But what puzzled me most was the refurbishing of an enormous array of old lanterns—not adapted to illumination or calculated to add lustre to the festivities of the day. No; lanterns these of a past and antiquated type, resembling in some degree the lanterns of horn which, as illuminators, have long ago passed out of fashion, and are only to be found occasionally in some stable or cowshed that has lapsed far behind the progress of the age.
Never did I imagine that female tongues—girlish tongues more especially—could keep a secret so rigidly. Not a word was let slip by Marion or the Rectory party in explanation of their proceedings, so all I could do was to possess my soul in patience, thankful that my own presence was not a necessary part in the due performance of these mysteries.