Mrs. Parks demurred a moment, and while she did so Benson, whose word was law in all matters concerning the Parkses’ horseflesh, turned on the box and, touching his hat, said in a tone that was not to be contradicted, “Mrs. Parks, mum, we must keep on the way we are going, facin’ with the wind until we can get to a flat spot where I can blanket my horses and rest them a bit. I’d not take the risk of turning them against that chill river breeze in their present sweat.” Both ladies understood stable ethics, and the moods of husbands when these same are disregarded, too well to object, and so a drive that would not have been abandoned for anything else was reversed by the mere blowing of the wind. Reaching the beginning of the plateau by the West homestead, Benson had the tact to choose a spot for blanketing the horses where the cross-road opened Brooke’s favourite river vista to the ladies in the carriage. “How beautiful!” mumbled Mrs. Van Kleek, drowsily, her dry tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth. “It would be if we could only have our tea,” sighed Mrs. Parks. “I declare I must have an outfit of some kind adjusted to this carriage, for I’m devoted to driving, and every one says that it is the great feature of this hill country, and of course there isn’t a place around here where they know what tea is.” Johnson, who had been reconnoitring with an eye to a well, returned at that moment. “Hup yonder, mum, there’s a neat house, mum, and a sign of a fox hangs by the gate, mum, quite like the old country, only it says ‘TEA’ instead of hale, mum.” “Tea on a sign-board here in the backwoods! Lead the horses a little farther up, Benson, and Johnson, do you go in and ask what we can have,”—turning to Mrs. Van Kleek, “I don’t suppose the tea will be any good, herbs or old hay, but at least it will be wet, and perhaps hot, and I’m beginning to feel the evening chill in the wind. I wonder why no one has the sense to have a good tea place hereabouts, like the English tea-gardens, where they would put up sandwiches for fishing and touring parties and all that. They could make a fortune in the season, I’m sure.” “Here’s the bill of fare, mum,” said Johnson, returning and presenting the card; “a most genteel place, mum, though they’ve no license for spirits. Everything made fresh to order, mum, and in fifteen minutes. Besides what’s there, mum, there’s ginger hale and club sody, and will you ’ave it ’ere or go on the porch, mum?” “Mrs. Van Kleek, will you look at this!” ejaculated Mrs. Parks, laying the card upon that lady’s lap as if she had suddenly been presented with a patent of nobility.