“Indeed, yes, sir!” Betsy sprang toward the door, but with her hand on the latch she turned. “Do you like corn bread, sir,” she asked. “I made some, myself, yesterday afternoon. It is delicious with our fresh milk, half cream.”
“That would make a breakfast that I should like above all else,” the stranger said, smiling. And he watched the graceful little figure as Betsy slipped through the door. “A good daughter of America,” he said to himself, “a housewife above all else.”
“LITTLE MISTRESS OF THE MANSION”
In the twinkling of an eye, Betsy returned, carrying a daintily-spread tray. On a white cloth there was set gold and white china, thin and sparkling. The corn bread almost matched the gold, and a tall glass goblet was filled to the top with foamy milk. Betsy’s guest ate as if no meal had ever tasted so good to him before. He did not speak until he had eaten the last crumb of the corn bread and drunk the last drop of the milk. Then he rose to go.
“Many thanks, little Mistress of the Mansion,” he said, “for your very gracious hospitality. I have been entertained most lavishly on the journey I am now taking, but at no stopping place have I enjoyed it so much. I want you to be comforted in your disappointment, my child, and to realize that in serving and feeding a stranger you have done quite as kind an act as if you had scattered flowers before your President.”
“Thank you very much, sir!” Betsy bowed again, and took the strong hand the man gave her as he started down the steps. Then a sudden thought came to her.
“May I ask your name, sir?” she asked. “I should like to tell my mother when she returns.”
“You may, my child,” he replied. “It is George Washington.”