The little old lady bending over a chicken coop from which spilled yellow puffs of baby chicks, might have been somebody’s indulgent grandmother. The calico dress drawn in around a shapeless middle was faded; so was the bonnet from which escaped several strands of iron-gray hair.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Royall!” There was warm deference in Jack’s voice.
She stood up and her shoulders squared. There was a certain sprightliness in the movement, and in the tanned, unwrinkled face gleamed eyes of a remarkable brightness. When she spoke her voice had an unexpected crispness.
“Indeed—it’s Jack Haley. And who is this female with you?”
“This is a kinswoman of mine, Mrs. Royall. I have the pleasure of presenting to you, Mrs. Amelia Kemp.”
“How do ye do!” The little old lady spoke with prim formality, her eyes flashing briefly over Amelia.
“I am honored, ma’am.” Amelia scarcely managed the words.
“She has come to Washington to work,” Jack went on. “So I have brought her to you.”
The gray eyes snapped.
“And why should you bring your kinswoman to me?”