"Gals!" said the old man's voice,—"one on 'em highty-tighty, fly-away-lookin', 'n' the other kind o' 'pindlin'; drivin' your hoss, they was."
"Why—yes!" said Martha, more and more astonished. "What upon earth—"
"Here's their basket!" the old man continued; "tell 'em I—relished the victuals. Good-day t' ye!"
Then came the sound of a stick on the steps, and of shuffling feet on the gravel; and the next moment Miss Wealthy and Martha were gazing at the guilty girls with faces of mute amazement and inquiry which almost upset Hildegarde's composure.
"It's true, Cousin Wealthy!" she said quickly. "We meant to tell you—in a little while, when you would not be worried. We thought the house was deserted, and I went and looked in at the window. And—it looked so wretched, we thought we might—"
"There was only an onion and three crackers," murmured Rose, in deprecating parenthesis.
"We thought we might leave part of our luncheon, for Martha had given us such a quantity; and just when we had finished, we saw a face at the window—oh, such a dreadful old face!—and we ran away, and forgot the basket. So you see, Martha," she added, "it was partly your fault, for giving us so much luncheon."
"I see!" said Martha, chuckling, and apparently much amused.
But Miss Wealthy looked really frightened. "My dear girls," she said, "it was a very imprudent thing to do. Why, Galusha Pennypacker is half insane, people think. A dreadful old miser, who lives in filth and wretchedness, while he has plenty of money hidden away,—at least people say he has. Why, it terrifies me to think of your going into that hovel."
"Oh! Cousin Wealthy," said Hildegarde, soothingly, "he couldn't have hurt us, poor old thing! if he had tried. He looks at least a hundred years old. And of course we didn't know he was a miser. But surely it will do no harm for him to have a good dinner for once, and Martha's turnovers ought really to have a civilizing effect upon him. Who knows? Perhaps it may make him remember nicer ways, and he may try to do better."