Helena looked at the big basket of trout and laughed, then shivered at the echo of her own laughter in that place, which seemed full as “solemn” to her as it did to the more accustomed Mattie.
They were soon back at the inn, Mattie at once proceeding to show Alfaretta that she could do some fine cooking herself; and between them they made Mrs. Roderick’s larder suffer, so eager was each to outdo the other and to suggest some further delicacy for that wonderful meal.
Mrs. Ford paced in and out of the living-room, watchful and still anxious, though greatly amused at the doings of the three girls, and wondering, as well, how the landlady could sleep through all that din and chatter. For Helena, too, had gone into the kitchen and seizing a pitcher of cream Mattie was carrying to the table, demanded a chance to “whip” it.
“It’s such an improvement, or will be for that good coffee you’ve made, and Herbert likes it so much.”
Mattie put her arms akimbo and stared; then demanded, in turn:
“Can’t you do anything sensibler than ‘whip’ cream? As if it was bad. You make me laugh, though I don’t know what you mean.”
Helena soon showed her, even with a two-tined steel fork beating the rich cream into a heaped-up, foamy mass, which Mattie declared was the “wonderfulest thing” she had ever seen. They were still discussing the matter, and each sampling the delicacy with relish, when Mrs. Ford’s excited voice was heard, calling:
“They’re coming! Oh! they’re coming at last! Away down the road! I can hear them—beyond the turn of the road. Only it seems that they come slowly. Is it so? Or is it my own impatience?”
Only Alfaretta stopped to push the pans and pots to the cool, safe end of the great stove, now glowing red in front from the hot fire they had made. The other girls rushed outward to see for themselves, and Alfy reached the piazza just in time to hear Mattie remark:
“Yes, they do travel powerful slow. They ain’t in no hurry to get here. Somethin’s happened. You can just believe me—somethin’s happened!”