"I
ought not to say I have no friends left; I cannot eat a meal
that I am not reminded of two good ones. Mr. John knew one of
my weak points when he sent me that box of souchong."
The supper was ready, and the little party gathered round the
table. The tea did credit to the judgment of the giver and the
skill of the maker, but they were no critics that drank it.
Alice and Ellen were much too hungry and too happy to be
particular. Miss Fortune's pumpkin pie was declared to be very
fine, and so were Mrs. Vawse's cheese and butter. Eating and
talking went on with great spirit, their old friend seeming
scarce less pleased or less lively than themselves. Alice
proposed the French plan, and Mrs. Vawse entered into it very
frankly; it was easy to see that the style of building and of
dress to which she had been accustomed in early life were not
the only things remembered kindly for old times' sake. It was
settled they should meet as frequently as might be, either
here or at the parsonage, and become good Frenchwomen with all
convenient speed.
"Will you wish to walk so far to see me again, little Miss
Ellen?"
"Oh yes, Ma’am!"
"You won't fear the deep snow, and the wind and cold, and the
steep hill?"
"Oh no, Ma’am, I won't mind them a bit; but, Ma’am, Miss Alice
told me to ask you why you loved better to live up here than
down where it is warmer.
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