Fortunately for Molly her father had not overheard her odd request or she would have received reproof far more effectual than Dorothy’s. Also, Mrs. Cook was hospitality itself, and this meant wishing her guests to enjoy themselves after the manner they liked best.
As swiftly as either of the girls could have moved, she was back in the pleasant living-room, arranging a tray with a portion of the palatable dinner she had provided; saying in response to the Judge’s inquiring expression:
“We thought it would be a fine thing, and one the lassies will long remember, to have their Bluenose dinner in a Bluenose garden. For all their lives long they can think of this summer day and my greenery yon; and, maybe, too, of the first time they ever ate ‘finnan haddie’ and ‘John’s Delight.’ More than that, it will give us the freedom of speech with son, as it wouldn’t were they sitting by. He’s aye shy, is my laddie.”
Then she carried out a little table, set it beside the steps and placed the tray thereon. After which she “Begged pardon!” and lifted up her gentle voice in an appeal that sounded almost pathetic in its entreaty.
“Son! Dear son Melvin! Come now to dinner with your mother! Son! SON!”
The last word was spoken in a tone he rarely disobeyed, and low-toned though it was, it was so distinctly uttered that people passing on the street beyond heard it. So also must he have heard who was summoned, if he was anywhere upon those premises—as he had been when these guests arrived.
However, he did not appear; and Mrs. Cook and the Judge sat down alone, while “Son” for whom that “home dinner” had been specially prepared was “fair famished” for want of it.
Out upon the steps of that lattice-covered, vine-enwrapped summer-house, the two girls enjoyed their dinner greatly. In particular did mistress Molly. Her eyes sparkled, her dimples came and went, her smiles almost interfered with her eating, and her whole behavior was so peculiar that Dorothy stared. She was puzzled and began to be slightly disgusted, and at last remarked:
“Why, honey, I never saw you get so much—so much fun out of your food. I’ve heard about gourmands. I think I can guess now what they are and act like. Hark! What’s that noise? Kind of a crackle, as if a cat or something was overhead among those vines. I hope it isn’t. Cats love fish. I always have to shut up Lady Rosalind when Mother Martha has it for dinner. Isn’t ‘finnan haddie’ a queer name?”
“Yes. I’ve heard Papa tell of it before. It’s haddock smoked, some sort of queer way. But this is nice—My! How nice this is! Umm, umm, umm!” giggled Molly, as if she found something most amusing in the food she smacked her lips over in such a very strange manner.