"That will do for potatoes if we can find a cover."
"For the fish. We'll have a fine dinner."
"I'm so glad you came. I wonder what I ought to call you?" with a kind of delicate perplexity in her face.
"Why! Norman if you like. Mother and pop shorten it into Norme."
"Did you come from—England—Normandy?"
"No," I laughed. "Pop, I believe, came from York State, and mother's folks from down farther south. You know Chicago isn't a very old place."
"I'd like to hear about it. It seems very queer. And you know we have Plymouth Rock. There were English Governors too, and it is more than two hundred years old."
There was a certain pride in her as she stood there in her faded gown, her tangled curls about her small face, her eyes shining with strength through their lucent light. I could have knelt and kissed her hand.
"And they had to cook dinners two hundred years ago. I suppose they brought over pots and pans in the Mayflower, and salt and pepper. I couldn't find any salt this morning," she laughed merrily, "and I've come in a wagon from Massachusetts. I am an emigrant, am I not? But I almost wish I had not come."