The stage was not full inside. The group before the store proved to be
made up of spectators, except one man, who climbed at once to a vacant
seat by the driver. Inside there was only one person, after two
passengers got out, and she preferred to sit with her back to the
horses, so that Mrs. Flagg and Miss Pickett settled themselves
comfortably in the coveted corners of the back seat. At first they took
no notice of their companion, and spoke to each other in low tones, but
presently something attracted the attention of all three and engaged
them in conversation.
“I never was over this road before,” said the stranger. “I s’pose you
ladies are well acquainted all along.”
“We have often traveled it in past years. We was over this part of it
last week goin’ and comin’ from the county conference,” said Mrs. Flagg
in a dignified manner.
“What persuasion?” inquired the fellow-traveler, with interest.
“Orthodox,” said Miss Pickett quickly, before Mrs. Flagg could speak.
“It was a very interestin’ occasion; this other lady an me stayed
through all the meetin’s.”
“I ain’t Orthodox,” announced the stranger, waiving any interest in
personalities. “I was brought up amongst the Freewill Baptists.”
“We’re well acquainted with several of that denomination in our place,”
said Mrs. Flagg, not without an air of patronage. “They’ve never built
’em no church; there ain’t but a scattered few.”
“They prevail where I come from,” said the traveler. “I’m goin’ now to
visit with a Freewill lady. We was to a conference together once, same
’s you an’ your friend, but ’twas a state conference. She asked me to
come some time an’ make her a good visit, and I’m on my way now. I
didn’t seem to have nothin’ to keep me to home.”
“We’re all goin’ visitin’ to-day, ain’t we?” said Mrs. Flagg sociably;
but no one carried on the conversation.
The day was growing very warm; there was dust in the sandy road, but the
fields of grass and young growing crops looked fresh and fair. There was
a light haze over the hills, and birds were thick in the air. When the
stage-horses stopped to walk, you could hear the crows caw, and the
bobolinks singing, in the meadows. All the farmers were busy in their
fields.
“It don’t seem but little ways to Baxter, does it?” said Miss Pickett,
after a while. “I felt we should pass a good deal o’ time on the road,
but we must be pretty near half-way there a’ready.”
“Why, more ’n half!” exclaimed Mrs. Flagg. “Yes; there’s Beckett’s
Corner right ahead, an the old Beckett house. I haven’t been on this
part of the road for so long that I feel kind of strange. I used to
visit over here when I was a girl. There’s a nephew’s widow owns the
place now. Old Miss Susan Beckett willed it to him, an’ he died; but she
resides there an’ carries on the farm, an unusual smart woman, everybody
says. Ain’t it pleasant here, right out among the farms!”
“Mis’ Beckett’s place, did you observe?” said the stranger, leaning
forward to listen to what her companions said. “I expect that’s where
I’m goin’—Mis’ Ezra Beckett’s?”
“That’s the one,” said Miss Pickett and Mrs. Flagg together, and they
both looked out eagerly as the coach drew up to the front door of a
large old yellow house that stood close upon the green turf of the
roadside.
The passenger looked pleased and eager, and made haste to leave the
stage with her many bundles and bags. While she stood impatiently
tapping at the brass knocker, the stage-driver landed a large trunk, and
dragged it toward the door across the grass. Just then a busy-looking
middle-aged woman made her appearance, with floury hands and a look as
if she were prepared to be somewhat on the defensive.
“Why, how do you do, Mis’ Beckett?” exclaimed the guest. “Well, here I
be at last. I didn’t know ’s you thought I was ever comin’. Why, I do
declare, I believe you don’t recognize me, Mis’ Beckett.”
“I believe I don’t,” said the self-possessed hostess. “Ain’t you made
some mistake, ma’am?”
“Why, don’t you recollect we was together that time to the state
conference, an’ you said you should be pleased to have me come an’ make
you a visit some time, an’ I said I would certain. There, I expect I
look more natural to you now.”
Mrs. Beckett appeared to be making the best possible effort, and gave a
bewildered glance, first at her unexpected visitor, and then at the
trunk. The stage-driver, who watched this encounter with evident
delight, turned away with reluctance. “I can’t wait all day to see how
they settle it,” he said, and mounted briskly to the box, and the stage
rolled on.
“He might have waited just a minute to see,” said Miss Pickett
indignantly, but Mrs. Flagg’s head and shoulders were already far out of
the stage window—the house was on her side. “She ain’t got in yet,” she
told Miss Pickett triumphantly. “I could see ’em quite a spell. With
that trunk, too! I do declare, how inconsiderate some folks is!”
“’Twas pushin’ an acquaintance most too far, wa’n’t it?” agreed Miss
Pickett. “There,’twill be somethin’ laughable to tell Mis’ Timms. I
never see anything more divertin’. I shall kind of pity that woman if we
have to stop an’ git her as we go back this afternoon.”
“Oh, don’t let’s forgit to watch for her,” exclaimed Mrs. Flagg,
beginning to brush off the dust of travel. “There, I feel an excellent
appetite, don’t you? And we ain’t got more ’n three or four miles to go,
if we have that. I wonder what Mis’ Timms is likely to give us for
dinner; she spoke of makin’ a good many chicken-pies, an’ I happened to
remark how partial I was to ’em. She felt above most of the things we
had provided for us over to the conference. I know she was always
counted the best o’ cooks when I knew her so well to Longport. Now,
don’t you forget, if there’s a suitable opportunity, to inquire about
the drop-cakes;” and Miss Pickett, a little less doubtful than before,
renewed her promise.