Loisl had stopped playing and was tuning a little, idly sounding chords of penetrating sweetness. There came a noise of jolting and jingling from the road below.
Mrs Dene spoke softly to Ruth. “That is the Mail; it is time he was here.” Ruth assented absently. She cared at that moment more for hearing a new folk-song than for the coming of her old playmate.
Rapid wheels approaching from the same direction overtook and passed the “Post” and stopped below. Mrs Dene rose, drawing Ruth with her. The three tall Jaegers rose too, touching their hats. Thanking them all, with a special compliment to Loisl, the ladies went and stood by some stone steps which lead from the road to the Först-haus, just as a young fellow, proceeding up them two at a time, arrived at the top, and taking Mrs Dene’s hand began to kiss it affectionately.
“At last!” she cried, “and the very same boy! after four years! Ruth!” Ruth gave one hand and Reginald Gethryn took two, releasing one the next moment to put his arm around the little old lady, and so he led them both into the house, more at home already than they were.
“Shall we begin to talk about how we are not one bit changed, only a little older, first, or about your supper?” said Mrs Dene.
“Oh! supper, please!” said Rex, of the sun-browned face and laughing eyes. Smiling Anna, standing by, understood, aided by a hint from Ruth of “Schmarn und Reh-braten”—and clattered away to fetch the never-changing venison and fried batter, with which, and Schicksalsee beer, the Frau Förster sustained her guests the year round, from “Georgi” to “Michaeli” and from “Michaeli” to “Georgi,” reasoning that what she liked was good enough for them. The shapeless cook was ladling out dumplings, which she called “Nudel,” into some soup for a Munich opera singer, who had just arrived by the stage. Anna confided to her that this was a “feiner Herr,” and must be served accordingly. The kind Herr Förster came up to greet his guest. Mrs Dene introduced him as Mr Gethryn, of New York. At this Mr Blumenthal bounced forward from a corner where he had been spying and shook hands hilariously. “Vell! and how it goes!” he cried. Rex saw Ruth’s face as she turned away, and stepping to her side, he whispered, “Friend of yours?” The teasing tone woke a thousand memories of their boy and girl days, and Ruth’s young lady reserve had changed to the frank camaraderie of former times when she shook her head at him, laughing, as he looked back at them from the stairs, up which he was following Grethi and his portmanteau to the room prepared for him.
Half an hour later Mrs Dene and her daughter were looking with approval at Rex and his hearty enjoyment of the Frau Förster’s fare. The cook, on learning that this was a “feiner Herr,” had added trout to the regulation dishes; and although she was convinced that the only proper way to cook them was “blau gesotten”—meaning boiled to a livid bluish white—she had learned American tastes from the Denes and sent them in to Gethryn beautifully brown and crisp.
Rex turned one over critically. “Good little fish. Who is the angler?”
“Oh! angler! They were caught with bait,” said Ruth, wrinkling her nose.
Rex gave her a quick look. “I suppose you have forgotten how to cast a fly.”