A drive of several miles brought them to a quaint old-fashioned farmhouse.
The house, which had the appearance of being very old, was built of stone and painted a light yellow, with white trimmings. Everything about the place was in perfect repair and exquisite order, and as they drove in around the gravel circle that surrounded a carefully kept bit of green lawn, Bertha stopped the cart at an old-fashioned carriage-block, and the girls got out. Running up the steps, Bertha clanged the old brass knocker at what seemed to Patty to be the kitchen door. It was opened by a tall, gaunt woman, with sharp features and angular figure.
“Well, I declare to goodness, Bertha Warner, if you aren’t here again! Who’s that you’ve got with you this time? City folks, I s’pose. Well come in, all of you, but wipe your feet first. As you’ve been riding, I s’pose they ain’t muddy much, but it’s well to be on the safe side. So wipe ’em good and then troop in.”
Miss Aurora Bender had pushed her heavy gold-bowed glasses up on the top of her head, and her whole-souled smile of welcome belied the gruffness of her tone, and the seeming inhospitality of her words.
The girls took pains to wipe their dainty boots on the gaily-coloured braided rug which lay just outside the door.
Then they entered a spacious low-ceiled room, which seemed to partake of the qualities of both kitchen and dining-room. At one end was an immense fireplace, with an old-fashioned swinging crane, from which depended many skillets and kettles of highly polished brass or copper.
On either side of the room was a large dresser, with glass doors, through which showed quantities of rare old china that made Patty’s eyes shine with delight. A quaint old settle and various old chairs of Windsor pattern stood round the walls. The floor was painted yellow, and here and there were braided mats of various designs.
“Sit down, girls, sit down,” said Miss Bender, cordially, “and now Bertha, tell me these young ladies’ names,—unless, that is to say, you’d rather sit in the parlour?”
“We would rather sit in the parlour, Miss Bender,” said Bertha, quickly, and as if fearing her hostess might not follow up her suggestion, Bertha opened a door leading to the front hall, and started toward the parlour, herself.
“Well,” said Miss Bender, with a note of regret in her voice, “I s’pose if you must, you must; though for my part, I’m free to confess that this room’s a heap more cozy and livable.”