Then Ma Pettengill eased my worry.  She said in a few simple but affecting words, that we had stopped in for a bite to eat.  No self-torturing stylist could have put the thing better.  And results were sudden.  Uncle Henry, the male one, went to take our horses round to the barn, and the other one said they had et an hour ago; but give her ten minutes and she’d have a couple of them young pullets skinned and on the fire.

Ma Pettengill said, with very questionable taste, I thought:  “Oh, no; nothing like that!”—­because we didn’t want to make the least bit of trouble.  The woman is dense at times.  What else had we come there for?  But Aunt Mollie said, then, how about some prime young pork tenderline?  And Ma Pettengill said she guessed that would do, and I said I guessed that would do.  And there we were!  The ladies went to the kitchen, where they made quick and grateful noises.

Pretty soon Uncle Henry came round a lovely corner and said try a tumbler of this here grape wine, which he poured from a pressed-glass pitcher; so I tried it and gave him a town cigarette, which he tucked between his beautiful white moustache and his beautiful white whiskers.  And I hoped he didn’t use gasoline to get them so clean, because if he did something might happen when he lighted the cigarette; but nothing did, so probably he didn’t.  I tried the grape wine again; and dear old Uncle Henry said he was turning out quite a bit of it since the Gov’ment had shet down on regular dram-shops, quite considerable of parties happening along from time to time to barter with him, getting it for dances or colds, or something.

A yellow cat, with blue eyes like Uncle Henry’s, came and slept on his lap.  A large fussy hen with a litter of chickens—­or however a hen designates her assemblage of little ones—­clucked her way to our feet.  I could see three hives of bees, a grape arbour, and a row of milk pans drying in the sun, each leaning on its neighbour along a white bench.  Uncle Henry said drink it up while it was cold.  All Nature seemed to smile.  The hen found a large and charming bug, and chuckled humorously while her cunning little ones tore it limb from limb.  It was idyllic.

Then Aunt Mollie pushed open the screen door and said come in and set up; so I came in and set up quickly, having fried pork tenderloin and fried potatoes, and hot biscuit and pork gravy, and cucumber pickles, and cocoanut cake and pear preserves, peach preserves, apricot preserves, loganberry jelly, crab-apple jelly, and another kind of preserves I was unable to identify, though trying again and again.

Ma Pettengill ate somewhat, but talked also, keeping Uncle Henry and Aunt Mollie shiny with smiles.  They both have polished white teeth of the most amazing regularity.  I ate almost exclusively, affecting to be preoccupied about something.  The time was urgent.  I formed an entangling alliance with the pork tenderloin, which endured to a point where but one small fragment was left on the platter.  I coolly left it there, so that Aunt Mollie might believe she had cooked more than enough.