The cart moved on. Presently Pamela said softly, “Poor old thing! he made me feel quite miserable.”
“He’s not quite right in his head. But—you heard what he said, Cousin Pamela? A man’s no good without a missis.”
The strong brown hand in the worn driving-glove plunged under the holland carriage-rug and took her bare fingers significantly.
“It’s true enough,” Jethro said thoughtfully, after a bit. “I’m worried about Folly Corner. Something’s wanting. The food’s all right——”
“Now, the food isn’t right,” she put in briskly. “Plenty of it—yes. But the serving! Who ever heard of a meat pudding brought to table in its basin! Fancy cheese on the breakfast-table! White sugar should be grated over the tarts and—oh, many things. Some of them I couldn’t mention to you: it wouldn’t be nice.”
She was thinking of a thrifty trick of Gainah’s: the unhatched eggs found in a hen that had been killed were used for cakes. She thought it perfectly horrid, and her town squeamishness made her feel that there was a certain indelicacy involved in the proceeding. At all events she couldn’t mention such a thing to Jethro.
“And the other day,” she continued, broodingly, “a pig was killed. Gainah was in the kitchen all day. She made me go out, too. The things they did with that pig! The savory horrors she turned out!”
Jethro gave a great jolly laugh.
“Chitterling and fagots and scraps,” he cried. “I like them. You are not a farmer’s wife—yet. Gainah is a splendid housekeeper. It isn’t the housekeeping. It is the—the—difference. You know what I mean. Flowers in the vases; the dinner-table dainty, not solid. Foolish things—but they make a difference.”
“They are important things. They certainly make a difference—all the difference. You’ve been dominated too long by that old woman. The place has the wrong tone. Do you understand what I mean? It looks a farmer’s house. It ought to look a gentleman’s.”