It had been a full afternoon, and it was a late one when they reached the farmhouse. Mr. Hadley would have mounted to his buggy at once after helping Stella down, but the deacon interposed.
“Why, it’s high time for supper,” he said, “and you mustn’t drive back to Hartridge without having a bite to eat, you or your horses either.”
“Of course not,” said Stella, cordially. “We count on your staying to supper.” And then she added archly, “I really think you ought, for the sake of your great-great-grandfather.”
“Whom your great-great-grandmother could never get rid of?” he replied, laughing. “I’m not sure but on his account I ought to go, to convince you that his descendants at least can turn their backs on pleasure.”
But he did not insist on doing it, and it is extremely doubtful whether Jabez Bridgewood ever enjoyed a meal under the old roof more than Philip Hadley enjoyed the one that followed. The fact was, both Stella and her mother had foreseen that the delays and digressions of the old gentleman in showing his party around would consume the afternoon, and bring the young man back at about this time. They had conferred carefully as to the setting of the table in the best old-fashioned china, with a pretty mingling of Stella’s hand-painted pieces; the menu had been settled to a nicety in advance, and the delicate French salad, which Mr. Hadley pronounced the best he had ever tasted, had been compounded by Stella herself before leaving the house.
Tom and Kate, who were just in from a tramp to a distant pasture, had their places with the others. Tom had objected at first to sitting down with “the nabob,” as he called their guest, but Kate’s persuasions and his own curiosity finally overcame him.
The meal was a social one. The girls talked of their intended outing, and Mr. Hadley, who was much interested, made some capital suggestions.
Then a question or two drew him out in regard to his own summer, and he talked quite charmingly of a yachting trip in July. There was a plan for the White Mountains early in September. He had succeeded better than usual in killing time this summer, he said; to which he added gracefully, that he believed no other day of it had been as pleasant as this which was just ending.
This brought them back to the excursion of the afternoon, and Esther in particular grew quite eloquent over the delights of it.
“That’s what it is to live in an old country,” she said wistfully. “You feel as if you belonged to the past as well as the present when you stand in the places where the things you’ve read of really happened. I think it’s beautiful to have historic associations.”