“We do not sell eggs,” answered May, coldly.
“Not sell eggs! Dear me, I thought all farmer’s daughters sold eggs. But as you are so kind, I will accept them; and you’ll not forget to tell your father about the milk and cream? Well, good-afternoon, Miss Margaret; I think I must steal one of your roses, though, before I go.”
It must be admitted that May Churchill entered the house after this interview feeling a little ruffled. She had felt so happy before, and had enjoyed her afternoon so much, and then to be snubbed in this fashion!
“She’s a vulgar old woman,” she consoled herself by thinking, and tried to forget her annoyance in arranging the table prettily for her father’s tea.
This meal was of a very substantial order. The farmer dined early, but between seven and eight partook of a heavy meat tea. Cold lamb, a fowl, and a home-cured ham, and various other good things awaited him, to which he presently did ample justice. He was a very sober man, and healthful, and he laughed heartily about Mrs. Layton asking for the milk and cream.
“She’s not troubled with modesty, the parson’s wife, is she?” he said. But somehow May did not tell her father what Mrs. Layton had said about the selling of eggs.
May’s two young brothers were spending some days with a neighboring farmer’s son, and the father and daughter were thus alone. And after tea was over Mr. Churchill, having lit his pipe, looked more than once reflectively at his pretty girl.
“I’ve got something to say to you, May,” he said, at last.
“Yes, father,” answered May, looking up. She was not afraid of anything her father might have to say to her. He was always kind and generous in the matter of household expenses, and there had never been any squabbles between them regarding weekly bills.
“I’m thinking of marrying again, May,” continued Mr. Churchill, somewhat abruptly. “You see you’re sure to marry, and the boys are young, and will want someone to look after them—and so shall I,” added the farmer, with an uneasy laugh.