“Well, this isn’t much of a time or place, is it? So, suppose we invade this peaceful dwelling, and inquire our latitude and longitude.”
They drove up a winding road to a large, old-fashioned house, and Philip jumped out at the front door.
His summons on the big, brass knocker was answered by a prim little lady, with grey hair and bright, dark eyes.
“Pardon me, madame,” said Philip, in his best manner. “We have lost our way. Will you tell me how to reach Hatton’s Corners?”
“Hatton’s Corners! Why, that’s a good ten miles from here. Where’d you come from?”
“From Fern Falls.”
“Then you took the wrong road at the Big Tree Fork. You’d oughter ‘a’ gone to the left.”
“H’m; you may be right. But must we go back there, or is there a shorter cut?”
“No; there ain’t no shorter cut. But your young lady looks cold. Won’t you two come in and take a bite o’ dinner, and get warm before you go on?”
“Why, this is true hospitality, madame. What do you say, Patty?”