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The Peterkins At The Farm
by
She had been busy all the early summer in preparing her dresses for this very watering-place, and, as far as appeared, she would hardly need them, and was disappointed to have no chance to display them. But of course, when the Sylvesters and Ann Maria came, all would be different; but they would surely be wasted on the two old ladies she had seen, and on the old men who had lounged about the porch; there surely was not a gentleman among them.
Agamemnon assured her she could not tell at the seaside, as gentlemen wore their exercise dress, and took a pride in going around in shocking hats and flannel suits. Doubtless they would be dressed for dinner on their return.
On their arrival they had been shown to a room to have their meals by themselves, and could not decide whether they were eating dinner or lunch. There was a variety of meat, vegetables, and pie, that might come under either name; but Mr. and Mrs Peterkin were well pleased.
“I had no idea we should have really farm-fare,” Mrs. Peterkin said. “I have not drunk such a tumbler of milk since I was young.”
Elizabeth Eliza concluded they ought not to judge from a first meal, as evidently their arrival had not been fully prepared for, in spite of the numerous letters that had been exchanged.
The little boys were, however, perfectly satisfied from the moment of their arrival, and one of them had stayed at the farm, declining to go to the beach, as he wished to admire the pigs, cows, and horses; and all the way over to the beach the other little boys were hopping in and out of the wagon, which never went too fast, to pick long mullein-stalks, for whips to urge on the reluctant horse with, or to gather huckleberries, with which they were rejoiced to find the fields were filled, although, as yet, the berries were very green.
They wanted to stay longer on the beach, when they finally reached it; but Mrs. Peterkin and Elizabeth Eliza insisted upon turning directly back, as it was not fair to be late to dinner the very first night.
On the whole the party came back cheerful, yet hungry. They found the same old men, in the same costume, standing against the porch.
“A little seedy, I should say,” said Solomon John.
“Smoking pipes,” said Agamemnon; “I believe that is the latest style.”
“The smell of their tobacco is not very agreeable,” Mrs. Peterkin was forced to say.
There seemed the same uncertainty on their arrival as to where they were to be put, and as to their meals.
Elizabeth Eliza tried to get into conversation with the old ladies, who were wandering in and out of a small sitting-room. But one of them was very deaf, and the other seemed to be a foreigner. She discovered from a moderately tidy maid, by the name of Martha, who seemed a sort of factotum, that there were other ladies in their rooms, too much of invalids to appear.
“Regular bed-ridden,” Martha had described them, which Elizabeth Eliza did not consider respectful.
Mr. Peterkin appeared coming down the slope of the hill behind the house, very cheerful. He had made the tour of the farm, and found it in admirable order.
Elizabeth Eliza felt it time to ask Martha about the next meal, and ventured to call it supper, as a sort of compromise between dinner and tea. If dinner were expected she might offend by taking it for granted that it was to be “tea,” and if they were unused to a late dinner they might be disturbed if they had only provided a “tea.”
So she asked what was the usual hour for supper, and was surprised when Martha replied, “The lady must say,” nodding to Mrs. Peterkin. “She can have it just when she wants, and just what she wants!”
This was an unexpected courtesy.
Elizabeth Eliza asked when the others had their supper.