We made our way to the kitchen, determined to return to the garden to enjoy the crust or whatever the cook might see fit to give us. A covered way connected the summer kitchen with the wing of the house where the dining-room was. This open passage was covered with a lovely old vine, one not seen in this day and generation except in old places: Washington's bower. It is a very thick vine that sends forth great shoots that fall in a shower like a weeping willow. It has a dainty little purple blossom that the bees adore, and these turn later into squishy, bright red berries. The trunk of this vine is very thick and sturdy and twists itself into as many fantastic shapes as a wisteria.
The kitchen was built of logs; in fact it was the original homestead of the family, having been erected by the earliest settlers at Price's Landing. Later on it had been turned into a kitchen when the mansion had been built. The great old fireplace with its crane and Dutch oven was still there, although the cooking was now done on a modern range. This black abomination of art, but necessity of the up-to-date housekeeper, was smoking dismally as we came in.
"Aunt Milly, please give me a biscuit!" cried Dum to a fat back bending over the table.
The owner of the back straightened up and turned. It was not Aunt Milly, but Miss Maria Price!
"Oh!" was all we could say.
The sedate black-silked and real-laced lady of the day before presented a sad spectacle when we made that early morning raid on the Maxton larder. In place of the handsome black silk she wore a baggy lawn kimono, and the fine lace cap had given place to a great mob cap that set off her moon-like face like a sunflower. Her countenance was so woebegone that it distressed us and two great tears were squeezing their way from her sad eyes.
"Why, Miss Price! Please excuse us," I said, seeing that Dum was speechless.
"Oh, my dear, it is all right now that you have seen me out here in this wrapper. These good-for-nothing darkies have one and all sent me word they are sick this morning and cannot come to work, and here I am with no breakfast cooked. I am so distressed that Harvie's friends should not be well served. What shall I do? What shall I do?"
"Do! Why, let all of us help," exclaimed Dum.
"Let his guests help! Why, my dear, I could not bear to do such a thing."