Aunty Rose made no audible comment, but she seemed to view Prince with more curiosity than hostility.
When the door closed again, Mrs. Kennedy went to the stove, and instantly, with the opening of the oven, the rush of delicious odour from it made Carolyn May’s mouth fairly water. The lunch she had eaten on the train seemed to have happened a long, long time ago.
Such flaky biscuit—two great pans full of the brown beauties! Mr. Stagg sat down at the table and actually smiled.
“You never made any bread that smelt better, Aunty Rose,” he said emphatically.
She had removed her sunbonnet, and her grey-brown hair proved to be in perfectly smooth braids wound about her head. She must have been well over sixty years of age. Uncle Joe seemed boyish beside her; yet Carolyn May had at first thought the hardware dealer a very old man.
The little girl took her indicated place at the table timidly. The cloth was a red and white checked one, freshly ironed, as were the napkins to match. There was a squat old silver bowl in the middle of the board, full of spoons of various sizes, and also a castor, like a miniature carousel, holding several bottles of sauces and condiments. The china was of good quality and prettily flowered. The butter was iced, and there was a great glass pitcher of milk, which looked cool and inviting.
“Joseph Stagg,” said Aunty Rose, sitting down, “ask a blessing.”
Uncle Joe’s harsh voice seemed suddenly to become gentle as he reverently said grace. A tear or two squeezed through Carolyn May’s closed eyelids, for that had been her duty at home; she had said grace ever since she could speak plainly.
If Aunty Rose noticed the child’s emotion, she made no comment, only helped her gravely to cold meat, stewed potatoes, and hot biscuit.
Mr. Stagg was in haste to eat and get back to the store. “Or that Chet Gormley will try to make a meal off some of the hardware, I guess,” he said gloomily.