Talbot's Angles

Linda recounted her tale to which Berk listened attentively. "What do you think of a man who would put such questions to a perfect stranger?" queried Linda.

Berkley knit his brows. "Looks like one of two things; either unqualified curiosity or a deeper purpose, that of finding out all about the farm on account of personal interest in it."

"But what nonsense. You don't mean he thinks that's the place to which he lays claim? Why, we've held the grant for hundreds of years."

"We don't know what he thinks; I am not saying what are the facts; I am only trying to account for his interest."

"Miss Ri thought he might be interested because his claim may perhaps touch our property somewhere, and that there may be some question of the dividing line."

"That could very well be. At all events, I don't believe it was idle curiosity. I'll sound him a little if I can, but he is a reticent sort of fellow, and as dumb as an oyster about that matter, though there is really no use in his talking till he gets his papers, which, poor fellow, it's mighty unlikely he'll ever find."

"I'd hate a prying neighbor," remarked Linda.

"You're not liable to have one from present indications. If I had time I'd really like to look into some of the old titles, and see just how the property in the vicinity of Talbot's Angles has come down to the present owners. I know about a good many, as it is. Your brother sold off Talbot's Addition, didn't he?"

"Yes. You know my father had mortgaged it up to the hilt, and then Mart sold it in order to get rid of the interest and to have something to put into the home place. He thought he would rather hold one unencumbered place and have some money to improve it than to struggle along with two places."

"Good judgment, too. If I am not mistaken there was still more property belonging to the Talbot family originally. Wasn't Timber Neck theirs at one time?"

"I believe so, though it was so long ago that I don't remember hearing much about it."

"I see. Well, here we are, and I think there must be crab cakes from the odor."

"So there are; I remember now. I knew Miss Ri was fond of them and no one can make them as well as Phebe."

The supper set forth on the big round table displayed the crab cakes, brown and toothsome, the inevitable beaten biscuits on one side, and what Phebe called "a pone of bread" on the other. There were, too, some thin slices of cold ham, fried potatoes and a salad, while the side table held some delectable cakes, and a creamy dessert in the preparation of which Phebe was famous. No one had ever been able to get her exact recipe, for "A little pinch" of this, "a sprinkling" of that, and "what I thinks is right" of the other was too indefinite for most housekeepers. Many had, indeed, ventured after hearing the ingredients but all had failed.

"This is a supper fit for a king," said Berkley, sitting down after a satisfied survey of the table.

"You might have just such every day," returned Miss Ri.

"Please to tell me how. Do you mean I could induce Phebe to accept the place of head cook at the hotel?"

"Heaven forbid. No, bat, of course not."

"Why bat?"

"You are so blind, just like most conceited young men who might have homes of their own if they chose."

"Please, Miss Ri, don't be severe. You haven't the right idea at all. Don't you know it is my lack of conceit which prevents my harboring the belief that I could induce anyone to help me to make a home?"

"I don't know anything of the kind. I know it is your selfish love of ease and your desire to shirk responsibility."

"Listen to her, Linda. She will drive me to asking the first girl I meet if she will marry me. You might do it, by the way, and then we might take our revenge by luring Phebe away from her. Of course, Phebe would follow you. I wonder I never thought of that before."

"You are a flippant, senseless trifler," cried Miss Ri with more heat than would appear necessary. "I won't have you talking so of serious subjects."

"So it is a serious subject to your mind?" Berkley laughed gleefully.

But Miss Ri maintained a dignified silence during which Berkley made little asides to Linda till finally Miss Ri said placidly, "I told Linda not long ago that I never got mad with fools, and," she added with a gleam of fun in her eyes, "I'm not going to begin to do it now."

"You have the best of me as usual, Miss Ri," laughed Berkley, "although I might get back at you, if one good turn deserves another. By the way, Linda, did you ever hear the way old Aaron Hopkins interprets that?"

"No, I believe not."

"Someone sent him a barrel of apples last year, and he told me the other day that he expected the same person would send another this year. 'He sent 'em last year,' said the old fellow, 'and you know 'one good turn deserves another.' He is a rare old bird, is Aaron."

"He certainly is," returned Linda. "I think it is too funny that he named his boat the Mary haha. He told me he thought that Minnehaha was a nice name for young folks to use, 'but for an old fellow like me it ain't dignified,' he said."

"Tell Berk what he said to your brother when he came back from college," urged Miss Ri.

"Oh, yes, that was funny, too. You know Mart had been away for three years, and he met old Aaron down by the creek one day. I doubt if Aaron has ever been further than Sandbridge in his life. He greeted Mart like one long lost. 'Well, well,' he said, 'so you've got back. Been away a right smart of a time, haven't you?' 'Three years,' Mart told him. 'Where ye been?' 'To New Jersey.' 'That's right fur, ain't it?' 'Some distance.' 'Beyand Pennsylvany, I reckon. Well, well, how on airth could you stand it?' 'Why, it's a pretty good place, why shouldn't I stand it, Aaron?' said Mart. 'But it's so durned fur from the creek,' replied Aaron."

"Pretty good," cried Berkley. "A true Eastern shoreman is Aaron, wants nothing better than his boat and the creek. Good for him."

They lingered at table talking of this and that till presently there came a ring at the door. Phebe lumbered out to open. She was unsurpassed as a cook, but only her extreme politeness excused the awkwardness of her manner as waitress. "It's dat Mr. Jeffs," she said in a stage whisper when she returned. "He ask fo' de ladies."

"Then you will have to come, Linda," said Miss Ri, "and you, too, Berk."

"Of course, I'll come," replied the young man.

"You don't imagine I am going to stay here by myself while you two make eyes at an interloper." And he followed the two to the drawing-room into which Phebe had ushered the visitor.

The young man sitting there arose and came forward, and after shaking hands with Miss Ri he said, "I believe you have not formally presented me to your niece, Miss Hill, though I was so unceremonious as to talk to her over the fence this evening."

"You mean Linda. She is not my niece; I wish she were. How would it do for me to adopt you as one, Verlinda? I'd love to have you call me Aunt Ri."

"Then I'll do it," returned the girl with enthusiasm.

"Then, Mr. Jeffreys, allow me to present you to my adopted niece, Miss Verlinda Talbot, and beware how you talk to her over the fence. I am a very fierce duenna."

The young man smiled a little deprecatingly, not quite understanding whether this was meant seriously or not, and wondering if he were being censured for his lack of ceremony.

"I presented Mr. Jeffreys quite properly myself," spoke up Berkley. "To be sure, it was in the dark and he wasn't within gun-shot. I haven't recovered from my scare yet, have you, Jeffreys? Next time you go to town, Miss Ri, I am going with you, for I don't mean to be left behind to the tender mercies of anyone as bloodthirsty as Linda."

They all laughed, and the visitor looked at the two young people interestedly. Evidently they were on excellent terms. He wondered if by any chance an engagement existed between them, but when later Bertie Bryan came in, and he saw that Berk treated her with the same air of good comradeship, he concluded that it was simply the informality of old acquaintance, though he wondered a little at it. In his part of the country not even the excuse of lifelong association could set a young man so at his ease with one of the opposite sex, and he was quite sure that he could not play openly at making love to two girls at once. However, they spent a merry time, Linda, under the genial influence of her friends, was livelier than usual, and however much she may have resented Mr. Jeffreys' inquisitiveness earlier in the day, on further acquaintance she lost sight of anything but his charm of manner and his art of making himself agreeable.

After the young men had seen Bertie to her home, they walked down the shadowy street together. "Haven't heard anything of those papers yet, I suppose," Berkley said to his companion.

"Nothing at all."

"Too bad. Are you going to give it up?"

"Not quite yet. I thought I'd allow myself six months. I have a bit of an income which comes in regularly, and one doesn't have to spend much in a place like this. Once my papers are found, I think my chances are good." Then abruptly, "You've known Miss Talbot a long time, I suppose, Matthews."

"Nearly all my life. At least we were youngsters together; but I was at college for some years, and I didn't see her between whiles. She was grown up when I came back."

"Then you probably know all about her home, Talbot's Angles, do they call it?"