"You can have all there is. And there ain't nothin' in the house but what's no 'count. If I'd ha' knowed—honeymoon folks wants sun'thin' tip-top, been livin' on the fat o' the land, I expect; and now ye're come home to pork; and that's the hull on't."
"Pork will do," said Diana, "if it is good. Have you no ham?"
"Lots. That's pork, ain't it?"
"Eggs?"
"Yes, there's eggs."
"Potatoes?"
"La, I didn't expect ye'd want potatoes at this time o' day."
Diana informed herself of the places of things, and set herself and Miss Collins vigorously to work. The handmaid looked on somewhat ungraciously at the quiet, competent energy of her superior, the smile on her broad mouth gradually fading.
"Reckon you don't know me," she remarked presently.
"Yes, I do," said Diana; "you are Jemima Collins, that used to live at the post office. How came you here?"