“It is as good as a St. Mary’s county spread! And I couldn’t say more for it if I were to talk all day!” she exclaimed, as she took her place at the head of the table to pour out the tea.
Mr. Force asked a blessing, just as he would have done if he had been at home, and then the three hungry travelers “fell to.”
“Father,” said Wynnette, when she had poured out the tea, which Hetty began to hand around, “do you know the Widow Kirby who keeps this hotel——”
“Inn, my dear—inn,” amended the squire. “I am so happy to find myself in an old-fashioned inn that I protest against its being insulted with the name of hotel.”
“All right, squire,” said Wynnette.
“‘A sweet by any other smell would name as rose,’
or words to that effect. The landlady of this hostelry—I should say tavern—I mean inn—the landlady of this inn is the Widow Kirby, sister-in-law to the baggage master who took care of Joshua, and from whom we brought the letter and parcel, you know. And this young person is his niece, and the man who drove us here is his nephew. And his brother is sexton at Anglewood Church, and his father lives there. Now! What do you think of that?”
“We knew from the baggage master that the Kirbys lived in Lancashire, so we need not be surprised to find them here.”
“But, papa, Lancashire is a large place.”
“My love, it has been said that the habitable globe is but a small place, and we are always sure to meet some of the same people everywhere.”