'Oh, will they? Can't we send a special messenger? I should so like to stay, and I am so hungry.—You've no idea how hungry I am,' she said, turning to Mr Howroyd with a merry laugh. 'Perhaps if you did you wouldn't ask us to stay.'
Mr Howroyd laughed his cheery laugh. 'It would be the first time there wasn't enough for any stranger at Howroyd's. That's not a Yorkshire failing. We've always enough and to spare for any kind visitor, and they're always sure of a Yorkshire welcome.'
'What's a Yorkshire welcome like? Is it different from any other kind of welcome?' inquired Horatia slyly.
'Well, we think it's heartier and more sincere. You see, we don't go in for show so much as they do down south; we say there's real old oak up here, and French-polished deal down there.'
'Oh, what conceit!' cried Horatia. 'Are you hitting at me?'
'No; at me,' said Sarah a little bitterly.
'I'm hitting at myself; for old oak, you know, gets worm-eaten.—And you're quite correct, Miss Horatia; that was boasting, and in very bad taste. Let's hope my cook won't have burnt up the chicken and apple-tart to punish me for it,' he said as he led the way into the cool, old parlour of the mill, with its wainscoted walls and old-fashioned furniture.
Horatia sat down in a rocking-chair, and gave a sigh of satisfaction. 'I feel I deserve a rest. I've done a good day's work this morning. I'm afraid I've tired you, Mr Howroyd, and taken up a lot of your time. I'd no idea it took so long to look over a mill. Why, we must have been nearly two hours.'
'Nearer two hours and a half. I calculate one and a half for most of my visitors; but, then, they don't all want to know so much as this young lady,' he replied, laughing.
'Oh, did I ask a lot of questions?' inquired Horatia.