The next morning dawned clear and bright, and Miss Pickett rose even
earlier than usual. She found it most difficult to decide which of her
dresses would be best to wear. Summer was still so young that the day
had all the freshness of spring, but when the two friends walked away
together along the shady street, with a chorus of golden robins singing
high overhead in the elms, Miss Pickett decided that she had made a wise
choice of her second-best black silk gown, which she had just turned
again and freshened. It was neither too warm for the season nor too
cool, nor did it look overdressed. She wore her large cameo pin, and
this, with a long watch-chain, gave an air of proper mural decoration.
She was a straight, flat little person, as if, when not in use, she kept
herself, silk dress and all, between the leaves of a book. She carried a
noticeable parasol with a fringe, and a small shawl, with a pretty
border, neatly folded over her left arm. Mrs. Flagg always dressed in
black cashmere, and looked, to hasty observers, much the same one day as
another; but her companion recognized the fact that this was the best
black cashmere of all, and for a moment quailed at the thought that Mrs.
Flagg was paying such extreme deference to their prospective hostess.
The visit turned for a moment into an unexpectedly solemn formality, and
pleasure seemed to wane before Cynthia Pickett’s eyes, yet with great
courage she never slackened a single step. Mrs. Flagg carried a somewhat
worn black leather handbag, which Miss Pickett regretted; it did not
give the visit that casual and unpremeditated air which she felt to be
more elegant.
“Sha’n’t I carry your bag for you?” she asked timidly. Mrs. Flagg was
the older and more important person.
“Oh, dear me, no,” answered Mrs. Flagg. “My pocket’s so remote, in case
I should desire to sneeze or anything, that I thought ’twould be
convenient for carrying my handkerchief and pocket-book; an’ then I just
tucked in a couple o’ glasses o’ my crabapple jelly for Mis’ Timms. She
used to be a great hand for preserves of every sort, an’ I thought
’twould be a kind of an attention, an’ give rise to conversation. I know
she used to make excellent drop-cakes when we was both residin’ to
Longport; folks used to say she never would give the right receipt, but
if I get a real good chance, I mean to ask her. Or why can’t you, if I
start talkin’ about receipts—why can’t you say, sort of innocent, that I
have always spoken frequently of her drop-cakes, an’ ask for the rule?
She would be very sensible to the compliment, and could pass it off if
she didn’t feel to indulge us. There, I do so wish you would!”
“Yes, ’m,” said Miss Pickett doubtfully; “I’ll try to make the
opportunity. I’m very partial to drop-cakes. Was they flour or rye, Mis’
Flagg?”
“They was flour, dear,” replied Mrs. Flagg approvingly; “crisp an’ light
as any you ever see.”
“I wish I had thought to carry somethin’ to make it pleasant,” said Miss
Pickett, after they had walked a little farther; “but there, I don’t
know’s ’twould look just right, this first visit, to offer anything to
such a person as Mis’ Timms. In case I ever go over to Baxter again I
won’t forget to make her some little present, as nice as I’ve got. ’Twas
certain very polite of her to urge me to come with you. I did feel very
doubtful at first. I didn’t know but she thought it behooved her,
because I was in your company at the conference, and she wanted to save
my feelin’s, and yet expected I would decline. I never was well
acquainted with her; our folks wasn’t well off when I first knew her;
’twas before uncle Cap’n Dyer passed away an’ remembered mother an’ me
in his will. We couldn’t make no han’some companies in them days, so we
didn’t go to none, an’ kep’ to ourselves; but in my grandmother’s time,
mother always said, the families was very friendly. I shouldn’t feel
like goin’ over to pass the day with Mis’ Timms if I didn’t mean to ask
her to return the visit. Some don’t think o’ these things, but mother
was very set about not bein’ done for when she couldn’t make no return.”
“‘When it rains porridge hold up your dish,’” said Mrs. Flagg; but Miss
Pickett made no response beyond a feeble “Yes, ’m,” which somehow got
caught in her pale-green bonnet-strings.
“There, ’tain’t no use to fuss too much over all them things,”
proclaimed Mrs. Flagg, walking along at a good pace with a fine sway of
her skirts, and carrying her head high. “Folks walks right by an’
forgits all about you; folks can’t always be going through with just so
much. You’d had a good deal better time, you an’ your ma, if you’d been
freer in your ways; now don’t you s’pose you would? ’Tain’t what you
give folks to eat so much as ’tis makin’ ’em feel welcome. Now, there’s
Mis’ Timms; when we was to Longport she was dreadful methodical. She
wouldn’t let Cap’n Timms fetch nobody home to dinner without lettin’ of
her know, same’s other cap’ns’ wives had to submit to. I was thinkin’,
when she was so cordial over to Danby, how she’d softened with time.
Years do learn folks somethin’! She did seem very pleasant an’ desirous.
There, I am so glad we got started; if she’d gone an’ got up a real good
dinner to-day, an’ then not had us come till to-morrow, ’twould have
been real too bad. Where anybody lives alone such a thing is very
tryin’.”
“Oh, so ’tis!” said Miss Pickett. “There, I’d like to tell you what I
went through with year before last. They come an’ asked me one Saturday
night to entertain the minister, that time we was having candidates”—
“I guess we’d better step along faster,” said Mrs. Flagg suddenly. “Why,
Miss Pickett, there’s the stage comin’ now! It’s dreadful prompt, seems
to me. Quick! there’s folks awaitin’, an’ I sha’n’t get to Baxter in no
state to visit Mis’ Cap’n Timms if I have to ride all the way there
backward!”