At this juncture in bustled Mrs Berry from the kitchen, bearing a smoking beefsteak pudding in her hands.
‘Now, Rhoda, my girl, it’s past two. Where’s the cloth?’ she began, but finished up with, ‘My gracious! whom have we got here?’
Rhoda was too excited and happy to wait for introductions.
‘Mother! mother!’ she cried, springing to Mrs Berry’s arms, and nearly upsetting the pudding altogether, ‘it’s my Fred, and he’s going to marry me, and we’re going to the Rocky Mountains together, and oh, mother! you will be able to go and keep Uncle Will’s house for him now whilst we’re away.’
She clung to her mother, sobbing and laughing at the same time, whilst Mrs Berry and Frederick Walcheren could only stand and gaze at one another in astonishment.
‘Rhoda, Rhoda, my dear! be reasonable!’ at last said Frederick, as he took her hand and tried to pull her away.
‘Reasonable! well, I wish she would!’ exclaimed Mrs Berry; ‘how am I to be expected to understand all this scrimmage, when you’ve never had the decency to tell me the man was in the house? Your Fred, indeed! Why, I thought your Fred was a Roman priest. Are you imposing on me, child? and putting another young man on me instead of him?’
‘No, no! indeed, mother!’ said Rhoda, as she caught up her baby, and prepared to leave the room. ‘Oh, Fred! explain the whole thing to mother, and I’ll be back in a minute.’
She flew upstairs, and spent some time crying and cooing over her child, and telling him, amidst her frantic kisses, what a dear, good father he had, and how very, very much his mother loved them both. She bathed her own eyes, too, and smoothed her golden hair, and descended to the little parlour, blushing like a rose, but with eyes beaming with gratitude and affection.
‘Well, here’s a pretty kettle of fish!’ exclaimed Mrs Berry, as her daughter appeared; ‘and so you’re to be off to the United States in another fortnight, and leave your poor mother to go to King’s Farm by herself. A nice, dutiful daughter you are, upon my word!’