Mrs. Widow came in at the gate as Miss Primkins went out; and, seeing the house all turned out of windows, looked her surprise at such goings on! She carried a frying-pan, a long-handled broom, a double milk-boiler, an egg-beater, and a lemon-squeezer, and explained that they had kept beautifully dry in her kitchen, whereas they would have been ruined if left to get damp in an empty house. Parenthetically, she hoped I would excuse her having used half a dozen lemons I had left in the pantry last time; she was afraid they would not keep; also some sugar in a tin, that she dare say might have melted away—and it seemed cruel to waste it considering the price of sugar.
Of course I said she was quite welcome.
And, by the way, was I wanting a jar of lemon curd? Her daughter had made some that was really lovely, and she would not mind obliging me by selling me a jar.
While she was describing the distinctive merits of the lemon curd, and relating what the lady of the manor had said in praise of the jar she had purchased, a man-servant arrived from the Manor House with a note and a basket, which he handed to me (with a very superior air that gave me to understand he was not in the habit of carrying baskets, and was only doing so now as a patriotic act in war time) across the kitchen table that stood in the path and blocked his further progress. While I read the note, he fixed his eyes upon his boots, and apparently looked neither to the right hand nor to the left; yet I know that he catalogued every item of those wretched domestic oddments that were decorating the lawn and garden path.
Mrs. Widow, possessed of a natural curiosity that it is hard to circumvent, was loath to leave without a glimpse of the contents of the basket. But Virginia got her off by escorting her to the gate, and telling her that I had not been very well in town.
“Ah! anybody could see that, miss,” said Mrs. Widow feelingly, glancing in my direction. “Don’t she just look ’aggard!” And then, seeing a look of surprise on the face of Virginia—who distinctly resented my being described as haggard—she added hurriedly, “Leastways, I mean ’andsome ’aggard, of course, miss.”
The lady of the manor had written to say that a cold was keeping her indoors for a day or two; but in the meanwhile, as they were busy curing bacon at the home farm, she had had them cut just a little piece of griskin, which she was sure I should like, and was having it sent up at once, etc.
The superior person left, carrying in one hand an envelope addressed to his mistress, which contained all the thanks I could muster, and in the other a note to be left at the village shop, asking Miss Jarvis to send me up a large block of salt.
“What shall you do with all the pork?” Ursula inquired.