“I shall be very glad to have you try, Emily,” she said. “If you can get along with the cooking it will save us the trouble of sending to Miami for another cook. Where does your sister live? Perhaps she wouldn’t care to come here for so short a time.”
“She lives home with mah mudder, Mis’ Carroll. Jes’ a little ways from Miami. She am only fifteen, but she am right smaht. I done gwine t’ write her t’night,” assured Emily, showing her white teeth in a wide grin.
“Do so, Emily. To have your sister come here will simplify matters wonderfully.”
Miss Martha looked her relief at this unexpected solution of the domestic problem.
With the deft assistance of Emily, the luncheon which the Wayfarers had busied themselves in preparing was soon on the dining-room table. It consisted of bread and butter, bacon, an omelet, and a salad, composed of tomatoes, green sweet peppers and lettuce, with French dressing. The fateful cake which Mammy Luce was removing from the oven when she saw the “sperrit” now figured as dessert along with oranges which Patsy had painstakingly sliced and sugared.
Previous to Emily’s disappearance, the preparation of luncheon had been accompanied by much talk and laughter on the part of the Wayfarers. Presently seated at table, they had considerably less to say. Emily’s revelation concerning Carlos had set them all to wondering and speculating.
“It strikes me that this Carlos has very little good sense,” Miss Martha criticized the moment Emily had left the dining-room. “He should have known better than tell such a tale to old Mammy Luce. I shall speak to your father about him, Patsy.”
“When we asked him about the portrait gallery he said he didn’t know a thing,” Patsy replied with a puzzled frown. “Do you suppose he really told Mammy Luce about the picture and the ghost? If he did, that proves he wasn’t telling us the truth. Now why should he lie to us?”