“Set right up there!” said Mrs. Peters, pointing to a table which was backed up against the wall with one leaf extended.
The antelope steak emitted a delicious odor to our hungry travelers, and they did not mind the absence of a table-cloth and napkins. These would have seemed out of place in this backwoods hotel.
In addition to the antelope meat there were corn cakes as promised and cups of coffee which had already been poured out.
“Mrs. Peters,” said Brooke, “you have given us a supper fit for a king.”
“I don’t know about no kings,” said the bony landlady. “I’ve heerd of ’em, but don’t take much stock in ’em. I don’t believe they’re any better than any other folks.”
“I am not personally acquainted with any, but if I were I am sure they would relish your cooking.”
“You’re monstrous polite,” said Mrs. Peters, her grim features relaxing somewhat, “but I reckon I can cook a little.”
“And your daughter, no doubt, understands cooking also.”
“No, she don’t. She don’t seem to have no gift that way.”
“That’s a mistake,” said Brooke gravely. “What will she do when she is married and has a home of her own?”