"It's all," Mrs. Hershey returned. "We solt every cake at market, and no more's made yet. It was all a'ready till market was only half over."
"Aunty Em'll be disappointed. She thought she'd make fried mush for supper," said Tillie.
"Have you strangers?" inquired Mrs. Hershey.
"No, we haven't anybody for supper, unless some come on the stage this after. We had four for dinner."
"Were they such agents, or what?" asked Lizzie.
Tillie turned to her. "Whether they were agents? No, they were just pleasure-seekers. They were out for a drive and stopped off to eat."
At this instant the rattling old stage-coach drew up at the gate.
The mother and daughter, paying no heed whatever to the sound, went on with their work, Mrs. Hershey looking a shade more grimly determined as she stirred her ponhaus and Lizzie more sulky.
Tillie had just time to wonder whether she had better slip out before the stranger came in, when a knock on the open kitchen door checked her.
Neither mother nor daughter glanced up in answer to the knock. Mrs. Hershey resolutely kept her eyes on her caldron as she turned her big spoon about in it, and Lizzie, with sullen, averted face, industriously cut her loaf.