“Bread and jam and tea at Miss Turner's,” Uncle Tom had said, and she had tried to smile at him.
And now they were standing on the platform, and the train might start at any moment.
“I trust you won't get like the New Yorkers, Honora,” said Aunt Mary. “Do you remember how stiff they were, Tom?” She was still in the habit of referring to that memorable trip when they had brought Honora home. “And they say now that they hold their heads higher than ever.”
“That,” said Uncle Tom, gravely, “is a local disease, and comes from staring at the tall buildings.”
“Uncle Tom!”
Peter presented the parcel under his arm. It was a box of candy, and very heavy, on which much thought had been spent.
“They are some of the things you like,” he said, when he had returned from putting it in the berth.
“How good of you, Peter! I shall never be able to eat all that.”
“I hope there is a doctor on the train,” said Uncle Tom.
“Yassah,” answered the black porter, who had been listening with evident relish, “right good doctah—Doctah Lov'ring.”