“Yep,” he was saying, “lost our way; took wrong turning at Big Tree Fork. Brought up, somehow, at Mrs. Fay’s. Accepted invitation to dinner,—chicken pie!—Start back immediately after the E in Pie! See? Expect us when we get there. Will accumulate a butter and a egg or two, on our way home. Love to all. Philip.” He concluded his harangue, and turned to Patty.
“All serene on the Potomac, Patty Pink! I told them all it was necessary for them to know; and if they desire further information, they can call us up. They know where we are. Me for the chicken pie!”
CHAPTER XVI
STORMBOUND
The two old ladies were not of the quaint type, nor was their home picturesque. The place and the people were merely old-fashioned, and they were almost primitive in their ways. They were kind-hearted and hospitable, but they were of the rugged New England class that has lost the charm of its Colonial ancestry.
The dinner was wholesome and plentiful, but with no variety, and served in the plainest fashion. The chicken pie was delicious, but it had no accompaniments except home-made hot biscuit and coffee with thick, rich, country cream.
“I always say,” said Miss Winthrop, as she settled herself at the table, “that chicken pie is a whole meal in itself, without any bothersome side-dishes. I say it’s meat and drink both; but sister says she just can’t enjoy it ’thout she has a cup of coffee alongside of it. Well, I’ve no objections to the coffee, I’m sure, but I’m free to admit it does seem superfluous. Still, with company so, it ain’t so much out of place.”
“I’m sorry if we’ve made you any extra trouble,” said Patty, giving Miss Winthrop one of her best smiles; “but I’m free to confess that this is the most wonderful coffee that I’ve ever tasted, and I think it goes specially well with the pie. And as for these light biscuit, they’re just puffs of lusciousness! Aren’t they, Philip?”