"Well?" said the old lady, when the silence had become embarrassing.
I felt that I must say something, so I remarked: "This is a very pretty place you have here."
At this, though the statement was quite true, they looked perplexed.
"Is there any message?" asked the young woman, after another pause.
"Oh, no," I answered lightly. "I was riding by and thought I'd take the liberty of coming up and telling you—telling you that although I am a Northerner and a stranger here, I love the South, the quaint old Southern customs, the lovely old houses, the delicious waffles, the—"
"That is very gratifying," said she "I am sorry to say we are all out of waffles at present."
"Oh, I don't want any now," I replied politely.
"Well, if you don't mind my asking, what do you want?"
"I want," I said, desperately, "to see your groom for a moment, if possible."
"He's gone to town," she replied. "Is there anything I can do? I see that your stirrup leather is twisted." With that she arose, came down, removed my foot from the stirrup, in a businesslike manner, reversed the iron, and put my foot back for me.