Once or twice he stepped back to view his work, and then a
pleased expression appeared upon his face. Occasionally his eyes
turned toward the little window above the work-bench until they rested
upon the road, leading from the main highway to his house. The captain
was expecting company, and this was something remarkable at "The
Anchorage," the name of the snug cottage by the riverside.
Within the house Mrs. Britt, too, was busy, and as she moved about the
kitchen, her step was lighter than it had been for years. She had just
finished making a batch of doughnuts, not the lean kind, mostly holes,
but big fat ones, coated with sugar, like thick frost upon the window
pane in winter. She was now making apple pies, the kind where the
juice runs out into the oven, and some of it sticks to the plate.
Mrs. Britt was known throughout the parish as an excellent cook, though
of late years few people were ever allowed the privilege of tasting her
dainties. This was her husband's fault, and not hers. She was
naturally of a sociable disposition, and fond of company. But Captain
Josh's crankiness had antagonised every person in Hillcrest, and it was
Mrs. Britt who suffered the most. But she was loyal to her husband,
and if people would not come to her home, she would not go to theirs.
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