"Oh, why does she wear those beads with that frock?" asked Mrs. Porter, accepting a dish of chowder.
"I guess if we could find that out we'd know why she does lots of things," returned the hostess.
"Simply delicious," commented Mrs. Porter, after her first mouthful. "Do show me how to do it, Miss Barry."
"Surely I will; but serve it after an early start from Portland and a ride across country with the wind off the sea. That's the sauce that gives the finishing touch."
"Why are all the people in Maine thin? Is it fish? You all have the best things to eat, yet you never get cushiony like us."
Miss Barry cast a glance across at the round contours, so different from her own angles.
"I think a bit of upholstery helps, myself," she remarked.
"Now, that Miss Benslow—why, she's really—really bony."
"Yes," responded Miss Barry, eating busily, "but she's got beauty magazines that's full of directions how to reduce, and she's delighted with her bones. Unlucky for her father, because she might do more cooking if she believed flesh was fashionable. Luella's dreadfully slack," added Miss Barry, sighing; "but so's her father, for that matter. He goes out to his traps twice a day, but he wouldn't mind his chicken-house if he lost the whole brood; and just so he has plenty of tobacco the world suits him all right. You know folks can just about live on this air."
Mrs. Porter regarded her hostess thoughtfully. "Then," she said, "I don't believe their house would be a very good place to board."