The Yorkshire woman re-entered the room, bringing in a tray on which was arranged hot muffins, dried toast, broiled chicken and fried ham, all of which she placed on the table.
“This is our daughter, Mrs. Montgomery, whom we have been expecting to see for so long a time, Elspeth,” said Mrs. Campbell, speaking from her own genial nature and overflowing happiness.
Elspeth courtesied again and smiled, but said nothing; she was rather shy. She took the baby, however, when the curate and his wife and daughter sat down to the table.
Esther Campbell looked a young, fair and pretty woman as she presided over the tea urn. She was really thirty-five years old, but did not look more than twenty-three. But, then, she had always had excellent health, few family cares and no sorrows, except in the marriage of her daughter, and even that was a light one compared to what that wayward daughter was made to suffer. She was a woman of medium height and slender form, for she had escaped the malady of fat to which women of middle age or those approaching middle age are subjected. Her figure was girlish, her features were delicate, her complexion very fair, with a faint rose hue over cheeks and chin. Her hair was brown, bright and curly. She wore her only Sunday’s dress, a dark green silk with a little lace at the throat and wrists. It was put on in honor of her daughter’s return.
The party of three waited on themselves and each other.
When all were served Hetty Campbell would most eagerly have asked her daughter:
“Where is your husband?” but that she feared something was very wrong with him and dared not question Jennie on this subject in the presence of the new servant.
Jennie had a healthy young appetite, and ate heartily, to the great comfort of her mother, who joyously watched her plate and kept it well supplied.
“Do you like this place, mamma?” inquired Jennie at length.
“Yes, my dear, on many accounts I like it very much. Of course we felt a natural regret at leaving a home where we had lived so long that we seemed grown into it, like a cluster of oysters in their shells, which to shuck out is death. But as it was not our own act there was no compunction; and as it was inevitable, there had to be resignation. We are happy here, my dear.”