As Mrs. Perkenpine turned from the camp cooking-stove, a long-handled pan, well filled with slices of hot meat, in her hand, she stood for a moment amazed. Slowly approaching the little table outside of the tent were the bishop and Miss Raybold, and glancing beyond them towards the lake, she saw Clyde and Raybold, to whom she had yelled that supper was ready, the one with his arms folded, gazing out over the water, and the other strolling backward and forward, as if he had thought of going to his supper, but had not quite made up his mind to it.
Mrs. Perkenpine’s face grew red. “They are waitin’ for a chance to speak to that Archibald gal,” she thought. “Well, let them wait. And she’s bringing him! She needn’t s’pose I don’t know him. I’ve seen him splittin’ wood at Sadler’s, and I don’t cook for sech.” So saying, she strode to some bushes a little back of the stove, and dashed the panful of meat behind them. Then she returned, and seizing the steaming coffee-pot, she poured its contents on the ground. Then she took up a smaller pan, containing some fried potatoes, hot and savory, and these she threw after the meat.
The bishop and Corona now reached the table and seated themselves. Mrs. Perkenpine, her face as hard and immovable as the trunk of an oak, approached, and placed before them some slices of cold bread, some butter, and two glasses of water.
Still earnestly talking, her eyes sometimes dimmed with tears of excitement as she descanted upon her favorite theories, Corona began to eat what was before her. She buttered a slice of bread, and if the bishop chanced to say anything she ate some of it. She drank some water, and she talked and talked and talked. She did not know what she was eating. It might have been a Lord Mayor’s dinner or a beggar’s crust; her mind took no cognizance of such an unimportant matter. As for her companion, he knew very well what he was eating, and as he gazed about him, and saw that there were no signs of anything more, his heart sank lower and lower; but he ate slice after slice of bread, for he was hungry, and he hoped that when the two young men came to the table they would call for more substantial food.
But long before they arrived Corona finished her meal and rose.
“Now that we have had our supper,” she said, “let us go where we shall not be annoyed by the smell of food, and continue our conversation.”
“Is it possible,” thought the bishop, “that she can be annoyed by the smell of hot meat, potatoes, and coffee? I suppose the delicious odor comes from the other supper-table. Heavens! Why wasn’t I asked there?”
There was a dreadful storm when Raybold and Clyde came to the table; but Mrs. Perkenpine remained hard and immovable through it all.
“Your sister and that tramp has been here,” said she, “and this is all there is left. If you keep your hogs in your house, you can’t expect to count on your victuals.”
Some more coffee was made, and that, with bread, composed the young men’s supper.