“Well, we’ll give you something substantial,” replied his hostess. “What will you have, Zeb?”
“Something in the line o’ birds,” said the child, a hard and hungry look coming into her eyes. “I sees ’em hangin’ up in the shops, I smells ’em and sees the dogs lickin’ the bones, but never a taste gets I. Say turkey, missis, or goose.”
“They have some turkeys over at the restaurant, I saw them to-day,” said Stargarde clapping her hands like a child. “We’ll have one, and stuffing, Zeb, and hot potato. Come, let us go and get it.”
The child sprang up, and clasping her hand Stargarde hurried out of the room and across the yard to the gay little eating house, going with the utmost speed so that they might not take cold. Breathless and laughing they pulled up outside the door, and opening it, walked soberly in. The child squeezed her patron’s hand with delight. The large, bright room before her, with its light walls adorned with pictures and its floor covered with little tables where people were eating and drinking, was like a glimpse of heaven to her. Stargarde went up to the counter.
“Good-evening, Mary,” she said to a pretty young girl there; “can you let me have a basket to put some purchases in? Ah, that is just what I want,” as the girl, diving behind the counter brought up one of the light flexible things made by the Indians of Nova Scotia. “Now first of all we want a turkey, a small one—no, a large one,” in response to a warning pressure from Zeb’s fingers. “See, there is one coming from the kitchen on a platter. Isn’t he a monster! Put him in a covered dish, Mary, and pop him into the basket with a dish of potatoes and—what vegetables have you?”
“Turnips, beets, parsnips, carrots, squash——”
“Well, give us some of each, but we’ll have to get the boy to help us carry them. We never can take all these things. And cranberry sauce, don’t forget that. Pickles, Zeb? Do you want some of them? Very good, we’ll have a bottle. Have you made your mince pies yet? No. Well, we’ll have a lemon one and a strawberry tart and some fruit. Will you have grapes or oranges, Zeb?”
“Dates, and figs, and nuts,” gurgled the child in almost speechless delight.
Stargarde stifled a laugh. “So be it Mary, and cheese and crackers for Dr. Camperdown. Now Zeb let us take this basket and run home and Mary will send the rest.”
Camperdown looked up in amazement as the two burst into the room. “What’s the excitement?” he said, getting up and standing with his back to the fire. “Here, let me put your basket on the table. What’s all this?”