“Air ye goin’ out there, miss? Ef ye air, we’d best bolt the front door, fer I’m goin’ out to the barn myself.”
I agreed that it would be wise to bolt the door, which we did, and proceeded on through the hall to the back door. My tour of the morning had not included the kitchen, and there had been so many other things to do and places to visit that I had never even been in it. As I entered it now, I paused for a delighted look at the rows of shining pans, at the big range and all its paraphernalia. In years agone, the cooking had been done in a great open fireplace, fully eight feet broad, and the range had been placed right in it, with its pipe extending up the chimney. The old crane had not been taken down, but still remained in place, folded back against the wall out of the way. What feasts had been prepared in that old fireplace! My mouth fairly watered at thought of them. It was in some such place as this that the people of Dickens loved to sit and watch the spits turning and sniff the savoury odours. Dickens always makes me hungry.
Everything was spotlessly clean, and bore witness to Jane’s sterling housewifely qualities. Through an open door beyond I caught a glimpse of the milk-house and heard the tinkle of running water. I stepped to it for a glance around. Rows of crocks, covered with plates, stood in a trough through which the water ran, clear as crystal and cold as ice, brought through an iron pipe, as I afterwards learned, from a never-failing spring some distance back of the house. The whole place had a delicious aroma of milk and butter, suggesting cleanliness and health. I should have liked to linger, but I had work to do.
“It’s all perfectly delightful!” I cried, returning to Abner, who had lingered by the kitchen hearth.
“It is a nice place,” he agreed, looking about at it affectionately. “Cosy an’ homelike. A mighty nice place t’ set in winter, when the wind’s howlin’ around outside, a-bankin’ the snow ag’inst the house. I’ve set there by the fire many a winter night an’ listened to it, an’ thanked my stars thet I had a tight roof over my head an’ a good fire t’ set by.”
“I hope you’ll sit there many winters more,” I said heartily.
“Thank ’ee, miss; so do I. I don’t ask no better place; but I’m afeerd we’ll hev t’ leave it.”
“Oh, no,” I protested. “Grandaunt provided that both of you should remain as long as you care to.”
“But mebbe we won’t keer,” answered Abner, his face setting into obstinate lines. “Mebbe we won’t keer when thet there ghost-raiser comes t’ live here. It ain’t hardly decent, thet business he’s in. He ort t’ be tarred an’ feathered.”
“Perhaps things will come out all right,” I said, but the words were from the lips rather than from the heart.