She looked around with pride at her dining-room furnishings, which seemed to Patty about the worst she had ever seen.
But she smiled at her hostess, and said, cordially: “I do think it’s nice to have just what you want; and I think we do get attached to our own things. Have you lived here long?”
“Land, yes! Nearly all my life. Mr. Fay, he’s been dead twenty-five years; so sister and me we live here together, as contented as you please. We have a telephone and a rural delivery, so you see it’s just the same as if we were right in town. Now, if you really won’t eat any more pie, let’s go into the sittin’-room a spell.”
From the sitting-room windows the view of the storm seemed more serious. The sky was black, the wind was blowing a gale, and the snow-flurry had grown thicker. In fact, it was a hard snowstorm, and Miss Winthrop’s fear of a blizzard did not seem entirely unfounded.
The young people took it lightly, however. “There’s no use worrying,” said Patty. “We ought to be thankful, Philip, that we’re under shelter, and with such kind friends. You’ll keep us till the storm is over, won’t you, Mrs. Fay?”
“Yes, and glad to. You just can’t think of starting now, so you might as well settle down and make the best of it. Want to telephone to your people again?”
“We will after a while; but there’s no use calling them up now. Let’s wait and see whether the storm grows worse or better. Why, if it’s a blizzard, we may have to stay here all night!”
“Don’t let that worry you none,” and Mrs. Fay swung back and forth complacently in her plush patent-rocker. “We got two spare bedrooms, and I’ll just be tickled to death to put you up over night. You’re just like a streak of sunshine in the house, Miss Fairfield, and I’m glad to have you as long as you’ll stay.”
“I wish you’d call me a streak of sunshine,” said Philip. “I’d love to be called that.”
“Well, you’re bright enough,” and Mrs. Fay looked at him, serenely. “But you’re a different kind of a streak.”