He pointed to the kitchen door. At that moment the door was partially
opened and a brisk feminine voice from behind it inquired: "How about
eatin'? Are you all ready in there?"

It was Captain Snow who answered.

"You bet we are, Rachel!" he declared. "All ready and then some. Trot
her out. Sit down, Mother. Sit down, Al. Now then, Rachel, all aboard."

Rachel, it appeared, was the owner of the brisk feminine voice just
mentioned. She was brisk herself, as to age about forty, plump, rosy and
very business-like. She whisked the platter of fried mackerel and the
dishes of baked potatoes, stewed corn, hot biscuits and all the rest,
to the table is no time, and then, to Albert's astonishment, sat down at
that table herself. Mrs. Snow did the honors.

"Albert," she said, "this is Mrs. Ellis, who helps me keep house.
Rachel, this is my grandson, Albert--er--Speranza."

She pronounced the surname in a tone almost apologetic. Mrs. Ellis did
not attempt to pronounce it. She extended a plump hand and observed: "Is
that so? Real glad to know you, Albert. How do you think you're goin' to
like South Harniss?"

Considering that his acquaintance with the village had been so decidedly
limited, Albert was somewhat puzzled how to reply. His grandfather saved
him the trouble.

"Lord sakes, Rachel," he declared, "he ain't seen more'n three square
foot of it yet. It's darker'n the inside of a nigger's undershirt