"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."
"Well I don't know what we're a going to give him," said Barby looking at her. "There ain't much in the pantry besides cold pork and beans that Philetus and me made our dinner on--they wouldn't have it in there, and eat nothing but some pickerel the doctor sent down--and cold fish ain't good for much."
"None of them left uncooked?"
"Yes, there's a couple--he sent a great lot--I guess he thought there was more in the family--but two ain't enough to go round; they're little ones."
"No, but put them down and I'll make an omelette. Just get the things ready for me, Barby, will you, while I run up to see aunt Lucy. The hens have begun to lay?"
"La yes--Philetus fetches in lots of eggs--he loves 'em, I reckon--but you ain't fit this minute to do a thing but rest, Fleda."