Some little attempt had been made to adorn the rooms which were
meant for the ladies. Clean towels had been spread over the pine shelves
which did duty for dressing-tables, and on each stood a tumbler stuffed as
full as it could hold with purple pentstemons. Clover could not help
laughing, yet there was something pathetic to her in the clumsy, man-like
arrangement. She relieved the tumbler by putting a few of the flowers in
her dress, and went out again to the parlor, where Mrs. Hope sat by the
fire, quizzing the two partners, who were hard at work setting their
tea-table.
It was rather a droll spectacle,--the two muscular young fellows creaking
to and fro in their heavy boots, and taking such an infinitude of pains
with their operations. One would set a plate on the table, and the other
would forthwith alter its position slightly, or lift and scrutinize a
tumbler and dust it sedulously with a glass-towel. Each spoon was polished
with the greatest particularity before it was laid on the tray; each knife
passed under inspection. Visitors were not an every-day luxury in the High
Valley, and too much care could not be taken for their entertainment, it
seemed.
Supper was brought in by a Chinese cook in a pigtail, wooden shoes, and a
blue Mother Hubbard, Choo Loo by name. He was evidently a good cook, for
the corn-bread and fresh mountain trout and the ham and eggs were savory
to the last degree, and the flapjacks, with which the meal concluded, and
which were eaten with a sauce of melted raspberry jelly, deserved even
higher encomium.
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