Clay looked black for a moment. Then a comprehensive grin dawned on his face. He trotted out with Mrs. Driggs’s fish, and brought it back again a few moments later, liberally nutmegged and very much to the lady’s taste. She ate it all and was happy.
“You seem to have no difficulty in keeping discipline in your family and among your step-children, Mrs. Merriam,” said Mr. Donne, almost directly after the nutmeg episode. “You must seem more like a sister than a mother to these tall young people.”
Winona was struck dumb with astonishment for a moment. She looked across at Tom, who looked back at her imploringly. She could see what had happened out in the kitchen, that time that the three others had been there alone and giggling. But this was no time to have a scene. She braced herself and settled her glasses more firmly, after one reproachful look at the three culprits, whose faces were tense with apprehension.
“Yes,” she replied quietly, talking, as Tom afterwards said, like a seraph, “They do seem like that. They are charming children, really.”
Mr. Donne went on talking about it. Winona went on replying with serene dignity. Even when he praised the cook she took it serenely, and when the Ladies’ Aid came in sight again she called to mind a visit from the secretary at which she had been present, and quite overwhelmed Mr. Donne with particulars.
Mrs. Driggs had been a little quiet and hard to talk to at the beginning of the meal, but Billy—Billy the quiet, Billy the shy among his own kind—proved to have the art of talking to grown people down to a fine point. He not only kept his end up, but he steered nobly away from risky questions of relationship, and other such perilous topics.
“It certainly gives you confidence to be a married woman!” thought Winona, as she excused herself and went to see about unpacking the ice-cream. Clay’s performance so far had been perfect, but she did not trust anybody but herself to get the cream successfully out of the freezer, without getting salt into it.
“Where did you find that nutmeg, Clay?” she asked curiously, as they arranged the cakes and ice-cream, and put melted chocolate in a pitcher.
“Law, Miss Winnie,” said Clay, his smile nearly coiling itself around his ears, “I done tole you hit wasn’t none. I des took dis yere ole wooden button-hook what hangs on a nail here, an’ grate a li’l bit of it off. De minister’s wife she never know de diffunce.”
Winona caught her breath, but this was no time to be overcome. The dessert had to be served. They were all laughing at something Louise was saying, when she came back. “I wonder if they would look so happy if I told them about the nutmeg!” she couldn’t help thinking, but it did not seem a very good thing to tell anyone, just then—although it was too good to keep always. The Camp Fire heard about it afterward.