By this time they had reached the dining-room, and Molly drew her behind its door, to whisper mysteriously,—
"She looks just like Rocky Point when there's a high wind. Then the rock stands up there black and big and square, just as Hester does; and her muslin turban is the spray up over the top of it, don't you see?"
Miss Prue nodded comprehensively, for the resemblance of the tall, straight negress to that bold headland was something she could recognize herself, now it was brought to her notice.
"I think you're right, dear; but come, our supper is waiting. Pray excuse me, Sara, for keeping you and Morton standing here; this little lady-bird and I have been exchanging confidences behind the door!"
What a supper it was! Well worth waiting for, Morton thought, for the queer foreign-spiced preserves and the hot pickles (which made Molly wink tearful eyes rapidly, and say, "No more, thank you, ma'am!" with great promptness) were all there; besides dainty cakes, such as only Hester could make, and tea that was to the common beverage as nectar to vinegar.
Once Molly paused, inspecting a small cream-cake in her hand with a grave air.
"What is it, dear? What are you thinking?" asked Miss Prue, to whom the child was always a whole page of fun and epigram.
"I was thinking, ma'am, how does this froth get inside the cake?"
"Molly, Molly! You are too curious," said her sister.
But now an idea suddenly struck the child, rippling and dimpling over her bright face like a breeze over a little lake.