As Mrs. Brewster came
in, Sary glanced up impatiently.
"Ah de'clar t' goodness! Ah wish you-all'd eat that brekfus an' vamoose
outen my way. Ah hes t' scrub this hull floor soon ez th' stove's
shined!"
"That's exactly why I came in, Sary--to get breakfast out of your way,"
returned Mrs. Brewster, sending a swift glance at Polly and Anne.
As Sary's words made way for their work, all fell to with a vim. Polly
and Anne carried dishes and chairs out of the room, while Mrs. Brewster
whisked off the cloth and asked the maid to help her carry the table
out under the trees.
No reply came from Sary, and the mistress turned to see why she did not
come to assist. The ludicrous expression on the widow's face, as she
sat bolt upright with her blackened hands raised heavenward in silent
protest, made Mrs. Brewster laugh.
"What's the matter, Sary?"
"Yore a clar case o' bein' locoed!" gasped the help.
"Not at all, but you want to scrub the floor, don't you?"
"Ah don't need th' furnishin's taken out fer that!"
"But we want to eat, you see, and under the trees we'll be quite out of
your way. Here, Anne, help me with the table, will you, please?" said
Mrs. Brewster, with finality.
The table was firmly placed under the trees and the cloth relaid. Then
the willowware dishes and old Tuttle silver were arranged by Anne,
while Polly watched eagerly.
"I do believe those old blue dishes look ten times as nice out here as
in the kitchen!" declared Polly, while Anne placed a few wild flowers
on the center of the table.
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