"That's more like you, Bet Baxter. That sea stuff never appealed to me. They always were made to work. And there isn't much work on an airplane," said Joy helping herself to another devilled egg.
"Do unwrap that package there," cried Shirley. "Let's see what Auntie Gibbs made for me. Chicken sandwiches, oh boy! And Auntie Gibbs' chicken sandwiches are the best ever, aren't they?"
"We ought to know," laughed Bet. "We've eaten about a ton of them. —Here Kit, do help yourself. Have another egg."
Kit had never tasted such a lunch. And it was all put up in such an appetizing way, it seemed a pity to disturb it. Everything was wrapped in wax paper or put up in small jars. There was actually a dish of crisp salad. There were stuffed olives and Bet grasped the jar with a little cry:
"Let's see if it is Auntie Gibbs' special. Oh girls, it is, it is! Auntie Gibbs' stuffed olives!"
"Well she has outdone herself!" Joy was munching an olive as she showered praise on the old housekeeper at the Manor.
"You know, Kit," explained Bet, "these stuffed olives are Auntie Gibbs' own invention and what goes into the filling of them, no one knows but herself. It's her secret!"
"And it's a secret to the death!" laughed Shirley. "She says she'll never tell and when she dies she will bequeath the recipe to her best friend. Won't that sound funny in a will?"
Kit laughed heartily at these new friends and Bet continued: "Oh yes, Auntie Gibbs makes a sort of religion out of her cooking. And when she hits upon something especially good, she guards the recipe as if it were a treasure and freezes up hard if anyone asks her how she made it."
"I wonder why?" ventured Kit.