Back of the building extended a cornfield, which ended in a tract of woodland, while upon its townward side was a sturdy growth of oak and nut trees, encircling the cornfield, and running quite to the line of the woods beyond.
Mistress Trask, the landlady, gave the two girls a small parlor, communicating with a sleeping-room; and here their supper was served.
As the buxom dame brought in the well-filled tray, a loud, aggressive voice came through the open door, evidently from the taproom, where a fire blazing on the hearth—although the night was barely cold—tempted the wayfarers to congregate.
"An' I tell ye," said the unseen speaker, "that Boston is the heart an' mouth o' the colonies. The wind that blows from Boston will set every weathercock from New Hampshire to Georgia."
A silence followed, suggestive of no one caring to dispute the assertion.
Mistress Trask, noting Mary's expression of annoyance and her glance toward the door, made haste to close it. Then she explained, as she began setting the food upon the table: "That's only farmer Gilbert. He's a decent enough body when sober, but once he gets a bit o' liquor under his waistcoat, it seems to fly straight to his brains and addle 'em. And then he do seem fairly grieving for a fisticuff with all creation."
"I surely trust he will make no such disturbance while we are in the house," Mary said uneasily.
"Never ye have any fear, dearie," replied the good woman. She was an old acquaintance of Johnnie Strings, and he had duly impressed her as to the high standing of the guests he left in her charge.
"Never ye fear," she repeated. "The sight of a real lady is sure to be a check on his tongue an' manners; an' I'll see to it that he knows who be in this room. 'T is true sorry I am to have to put ye on this lower floor; but ye see, we've strict orders to keep the whole o' the upper floor for some gentry who will be here by late evening."
Then bending her head quickly, she whispered with great impressiveness, "Who, think ye, we expect?"