The girls went to the kitchen door, not quite so sure of Sary’s warm welcome as their host was. But they found he was right.
“Well, for the land’s sake! What a delegation! Come in, Miss Grace and Miss Ethel, and bring your friends. Excuse my untidiness. I wasn’t no-ways expecting company.”
The apology was wholly unnecessary, for everything in Sary’s kitchen was spick and span and shining. She was a buxom woman of middle age, and had a broad, smiling face, overflowing with good nature. Her daughter, Etty, was the one who brought them their cakes and cider, and she was shy, but exceedingly curious to see the city ladies,—as the girls seemed to her.
She conducted them all over the fine old farmhouse, and listened in surprise as they exclaimed in wonder and delight over the big open fireplaces, and old mahogany furniture, that seemed to her the most uninteresting and commonplace affairs.
“Perfectly gorgeous!” cried Dotty. “Oh, Grace, I’d ever so much rather have the Hallowe’en party here. Wouldn’t you, old Dollypops?”
“Yes, of course. And we can just as well have any other sort of a party at Treasure House.”
“Course we can. And we will. After this affair is over. I say, girls, let’s have it a masquerade!”
“Oh, let’s!” said Maisie. “I’ve a dress all ready to wear. It’s a witch dress, all—”
“I think we ought all to dress as witches,” interrupted Grace. “Or spooks or hobgoblins or—”
“That’s all right,” put in Dotty, “but the boys won’t do it. They hate dressing up.”