“I’ve been able to eat almost anything and everything since I came into this country of open-air living. The last thing was some of Elsa Winkler’s swiebach and honey-sweetened coffee.”
“You don’t say! Oh! oh! Poison, sir, rank poison. You may as well count yourself dead and laid out––”
The unfortunate stranger shivered and turned pale. For some half hour past, he had been suffering various qualms which he had attributed to Elsa’s hospitality, but to tell a nervous invalid that he has been poisoned is to increase his misery a hundredfold. If Aunt Sally had desired a patient she was now in a fair way to secure one; but her words were without any significance to herself beyond the fact that she favored neither Elsa nor her cookery. Elsa’s knitting work had crowded her own patchwork pretty closely at that famous fair, and the handsome money prize, which she felt belonged of rights to herself, had been halved between the pair. Because, though their skill lay along different lines, they had both signed their exhibits: “From Sobrante,” and, manifestly, the judges could not give two first premiums to one estate.
This memory served to change her thoughts from disease to a detailed history of the wonderful quilt, during which they arrived at Mrs. Trent’s cottage and dinner.
But this could not yet be served. Aunt Sally must needs first see her son, and after the fondest of greetings, cautiously consign to him the care of her personal outfit. She even ran after him–as he walked away, grinning and leading the now obstreperous cow–with a vial in her hand, begging:
“Now son, please me, before you eat that ‘mess’ of men’s cooking by taking one spoonful of this dandelion relish. Made it myself, purposely for you, and I’ll warrant no alcohol in it, either.”
Experience had proved that protestation was worse than useless; so, with another grin, but a really affectionate “Thank you,” John accepted the vial and once more started stableward.
“Now, Aunt Sally, come! You must be hungry yourself, after your long ride,” urged Mrs. Trent, hospitably, and with sincere pleasure lighting her gentle face. Living so far from other women made the presence of even this uncouth one a comfort, and experience had proved that Mrs. Benton was, in time of need, that “rough diamond” which she claimed herself to be.
“All right, honey; in a minute. I’ll just step out to the kitchen and pass the time of day with Wun Lung. Besides––”
Jessica caught Aunt Sally around her waist–as far as she could reach–and tried to prevent her leaving the room, but was lightly set aside, with the remark: