Hetty was a good housewife, and there was nothing slatternly nor disorderly about her kitchen.
The dinner, smoking hot and comfortable, was upon the table when Vincent came in at twelve o'clock to partake of it. There was a great piece of bacon and some boiled beans. These were immediately followed by the plum duff. The farmer ate heartily, and Hetty piled up his plate whenever it was empty.
"You scarcely take a pick yourself, little girl," he said, seizing one of her hands as she passed and squeezing it affectionately.
"I ain't hungry, George."
"Excited 'bout Squire, I guess."
"Well, p'raps I am a bit; you don't mind if I go and talk it all over with aunt?"
"That I don't; when you smile at me so cheerful like that there's nought I wouldn't give yer. Now you look here, Griffiths, the steward, is going to get up a sort of display at the Court, and the villagers are going; there is talk of a supper afterward in the barns, but that may or may not be. What do you say to you and me going into the avenue and seeing Squire and Madam drive in. What do you say, Het?"
"Oh, George, I'd like it."
"You would not think of giving a body a kiss for it, eh?"
"Yes, that I would."