“That is my good boy,” said Alberta, as she stirred the fire to make it burn and keep the kettle hot—“that is my good boy! But, Gill, what shall we do for tea? Use saffron root again?”
“No, ma’am! See here. Captain Mutchison sent you this with his compliments,” said the young man whom Alberta called Gill, handing over the paper parcel that he had held in his hand
“Tea! real tea!” said Alberta, holding the parcel up to her face and gratefully inhaling its fragrance. “Oh, tell the captain I am ever so much obliged to him. Elfie, child, I have not had a cup of tea since I took one with Erminie at the parsonage. But I am very glad to have some now, for your sake as well as mine.”
“I suspect that tea is a part of the spoils of our picnic,” replied Elfie.
“Nothing in life more likely. Now do you know that circumstance actually adds piquancy to its flavor!” exclaimed Alberta, as she went to an old glass cupboard in a corner of the room and took from it a small tin tea pot, in which she poured a portion of the tea, and afterwards filled it up with boiling water and set it on the hearth to draw.
Meanwhile the young guerrilla, who had left the room, returned, bearing a small rude pine table and a coarse crash table cloth, which he arranged for supper.
Alberta took from her corner cupboard a few cracked cups, saucers and plates, and set them upon the table, while her guerrilla waiter went out and brought in a loaf of bread, a plate of broiled chicken and a paper of loaf sugar.
“Gill, my boy, you are the prince of purveyors!” said Alberta, as she received the good things and arranged them to her liking.
“All these with the compliments of Captain Mutchison,” said Gill, as he delivered them over.
“Of course! spoils of our picnic,” exclaimed Elfie.