No one else was ready to leave, however, and in going out, who should Pussy bump into but the bridegroom, who was coming up the steps arm in arm with another man, who at the sight of the now blushing Miss Pussy, raised his forgotten umbrella, took her to the cab, and then concluded that it would be only polite to shield her from the rain at the other end of the route.
Chapter II
Marjory and Billy Kent were seated at their breakfast table, which, indeed, was lunch and dinner table also, and was spread on the back porch. The fact that it was Saturday, and therefore “Massa’s day to home,” accounted for the way in which the pair were lingering over their meal, as well as for the chuckling good nature of June, short for Juno, who paused to gaze affectionately at “the chillun” every time she came near the little window that connected the kitchen with this outdoor dining room.
When the meal was once put upon the table, there was no need of further service, for a revolving stand in the centre of the table brought everything conveniently to hand. But still that did not prevent old June from peeping.
As yet the rolling ground that surrounded the house on three sides was billowy with long grass, and showed little sign of cultivation; on either side of the steps was a wide bed of heliotrope, and another of mignonette, and a soldierly line of sweet peas and other garden annuals broke the stiffness of the path leading to the little barn that housed horse, cow, buggy, and hay under one roof.
“What are you thinking of, Marjory Daw?” asked Billy, looking up from his newspaper at the face that was looking contentedly into space. Yes, Billy Kent read the newspaper at the breakfast table, as he always had done in his bachelor days. His wife would not dream of taking the responsibility of upsetting the habit; in fact, she had grown to like it, especially as he often read bits of interesting news that might otherwise have escaped her.
“I was thinking of three things together,” answered Marjory, smiling, “waiting-maids, chickens, and cats.”
“Do you want a waitress?” said Billy, quickly. “I was thinking at this very moment how jolly it is to be alone with ourselves, and perfect freedom of speech between us. Somehow the desire for it is always developed by eating!”
“No, I do not wish one. I was thinking the same thing when you spoke. What is handing a few dishes through to June compared with having even one’s unspoken thoughts read through your back, while as for fussing and dusting up the living-room, I love it, for it gives one a chance to get acquainted with one’s things, and see if they stand the test of being either useful or beautiful. We need not use the dining room before September, and by that time we shall have decided what not to put in it.”
“But how about the chickens and cats?”