"Oh, yes, he's coming home for lunch," she answered brightly, glad of
this much assurance. "And he has to have it early because he has to
drive that strange young woman from the parsonage back somewhere down
in New Jersey. She came alone by herself yesterday, but the mountain
passes sort of scairt her, and she asked Mark to drive back with her."
"Oh!" There was a challenge in the tone that called the red to Mrs.
Carter's cheek again, But Christie McMertrie's soft burring tongue slid
in smoothly: "What wad ye think o' the briar pattern around the edge? I know it's
some worruk, but it's a bonnie border to lie under, an' it's not so
tedious whan there's plenty o' folks to tak a hand."
They carried the topic along with a whirl then and Mrs. Harricutt had
no more chance to harry her hostess. Then suddenly Mary arose in a
panic: "I left my pies in the oven!" she cried, "They'll be burned to a crisp.
I must go. Miz Harricutt, are you going along now? I'll walk with you.
I want to ask you how you made that plum jam you gave me a taste of the
other day. Jim thinks it is something rare, and I'll have to be making
some or he'll never be satisfied, that is if you don't mind--!" and
before Mrs. Carter realized what was happening Mary had marshalled the
Harricutt vulture down the street, and was questioning eagerly about
measures of sugar and plums and lemon peel and nuts: "Now," said Christie setting down her jelly glass that she had been
holding all this time, "We'll be ganging awa. There's a bit jar of
raspberry jam for the laddie with the bright smile, an' you think it
over and run up and say which pattern you think is bonniest."
"It was just beautiful of you all to come--" said little Mrs. Carter
looking from one to another in painful gratitude--why it's been just
dear for you to run in this way--"
"Yes, a regular party!" said Jane Duncannon squeezing her hand with
understanding. "See, Mary has left her peas. You'd best put them on to
boil for Mark. He'll be coming back pretty soon. Come, Christie,
wumman, it's time we was back at our worruk!" and they hurried through
the hedge and across the meadows to their home once more, but as they
entered the Duncannon gate they marked Billy Gaston, head down,
pedalling along over on Maple Street, his jaws keeping rhythmic time
with his feet.