"Well, you do look dreadful bad," said Barby eyeing her. "Why, there aint much particular, Fleda; nobody's had any heart to eat lately; I thought I might a'most as well save myself the fuss of getting victuals. Hugh lives like a bird, and Mis' Rossitur aint much better, and I think all of 'em have been keeping their appetites till you came back; 'cept Philetus and me; we keep it up pretty well. Why, you're come home hungry, aint you?"
"No, not I," said Fleda; "but there's a gentleman here that came with me that must have something before he goes away again. What have you, Barby?"
"Who is he?" said Barby.
"A friend that took care of me on the way I'll tell you about it; but, in the meantime, supper, Barby."
"Is he a New Yorker, that one must be curious for?"
"As curious as you like," said Fleda, "but he is not a New
Yorker."
"Where is he from, then?" said Barby, who was busily putting on the tea-kettle.
"England."
"England!" said Barby, facing about. "Oh, if he's an
Englishman, I don't care for him, Fleda."
"But you care for me," said Fleda, laughing; "and for my sake don't let our hospitality fail to somebody who has been very kind to me, if he is an Englishman; and he is in haste to be off."