“Ah! And so your mother, your brother, and yourself do all the work and run the hotel?”
“Yes, ma’am. It would no pay us else,” replied the “Maid of the Inn,” who seemed to be as much inclined to be communicative as Wynnette was to be inquisitive.
“Oh, well, it is lucky that you are all able to do so. But you have not told me your name yet.”
“Mine be Hetty Kirby, ma’am. Brawther Jonah’s be Jonah, and mawther’s be the Widow Kirby,” definitely replied the girl.
“‘Kirby!’ Oh—why——Tell me, did you have a relation named John Kirby go to America once upon a time?”
“Yes, ma’am, a long time ago, before I can remember, me Oncle John Kirby, me feyther’s yo’ngest brawther, went there and never come back.”
“Oh! And—is your grandfather living?”
The “Maid of the Inn” stared. What was all this to the young lady? Wynnette interpreted her look and explained:
“Because, if he is living, I have got a letter and a bundle for him from his son in New York.”
“Oh, Law! hev you, though, ma’am? Look at thet, noo! What wonders in this world. The grandfeyther is living, ma’am, but not in Moorton. He be lately coom to dwell wi’ ‘is son Job, me Oncle Job, who be sexton at Anglewood church.”