“Sexton at Anglewood church! Is your uncle sexton at Anglewood church? And does your grandfather, old Mr. Kirby, live with him?”
The maid of the inn stared again. Why should this strange young lady take so much interest in the Kirbys?
Again Wynnette interpreted her look, and explained:
“Because if your grandfather does live there, it will save us a journey to Moorton, as we are going to Anglewood, and can give him the letter and parcel without turning out of our way,” she said; but she was also thinking that if this old Kirby, to whom she was bringing letters and presents from his son in America, was the father of the sexton at Anglewood church, an inmate of his cottage, and probably assistant in his work, these circumstances might greatly facilitate their admission into vaults and mausoleums which the party had come to see, but which might otherwise have been closed to them.
“Oh, ma’am,” said Hetty, “would you mind letting mawther see the letter and parcel?”
“No, certainly not; but I have no right to let her open either of them, you know.”
“She shawnt, ma’am; but it wull do the mawther good to see the outside ’n ’em. And o’ Sunday, when she goes to church, she can see the grandfeyther, and get to read t’ letter. And there be t’ bell, ma’am. And we mun goo doon to tea.”
Wynnette was ready, and went downstairs, attended by the girl.
A dainty and delicious repast was spread upon the table. Tea, whose rich aroma filled the room and proved its excellence, muffins, sally-lunns, biscuits, buttered toast, rich milk, cream and butter, fried chicken, poached eggs, sliced tongue and ham, radishes, pepper grass, cheese, marmalade, jelly, pound cake and plum cake.
Wynnette’s eyes danced as she saw the feast.