I regret to say there was not a tea cozy in the place;
indeed the linen, silver, and general table equipment were sadly
deficient, but in my reckless mood I made no comment.
"Your tea smells good, but it ain't got no kick to it," he observed
over his first cup. "When I drench my insides with tea I sort of want
it to take a hold." And still I made no effort to set him right. I now
saw that in all true essentials he did not need me to set him right.
For so uncouth a person he was strangely commendable and worthy.
As we sipped our tea in companionable silence, I busy with my new and
disturbing thoughts, a long shout came to us from the outer distance.
Cousin Egbert brightened.
"I'm darned if that ain't Ma Pettengill!" he exclaimed. "She's rid
over from the Arrowhead."
We rushed to the door, and in the distance, riding down upon us at
terrific speed, I indeed beheld the Mixer. A moment later she reigned
in her horse before us and hoarsely rumbled her greetings. I had last
seen her at a formal dinner where she was rather formidably done out
in black velvet and diamonds. Now she appeared in a startling tenue of
khaki riding-breeches and flannel shirt, with one of the wide-brimmed
cow-person hats. Even at the moment of greeting her I could not but
reflect how shocked our dear Queen would be at the sight of this
riding habit.
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