"You needn't talk to Fleda, mother," said Hugh laughing,--"she is quite beyond attending to all such ordinary matters--her thoughts have learned to take a higher flight since she has been in New York."
"It is time they were brought down then," said Fleda smiling; "but they have not learned to fly out of sight of home, Hugh."
"Where were they, dear Fleda?" said her aunt.
"I was thinking a minute ago of something I heard talked about in New York, aunt Lucy; and afterwards I was trying to find out by what possible or imaginable road I had got round to it."
"Could you tell?"
Fleda said no, and tried to bear her part in the conversation. But she did not know whether to blame the subjects which had been brought forward, or herself, for her utter want of interest in them. She went into the kitchen feeling dissatisfied with both.
"Did you ever see potatoes that would beat them Elephants?" said Barby.
"Never, certainly," said Fleda with a most involuntary smile.
"I never did," said Barby. "They beat all, for bigness and goodness both. I can't keep 'em together. There's thousands of 'em, and I mean to make Philetus eat 'em for supper--such potatoes and milk is good enough for him, or anybody. The cow has gained on her milk wonderful, Fleda, since she begun to have them roots fed out to her."
"Which cow?" said Fleda.