“The Sign of the Fox!—you! how do you mean?” ejaculated Mrs. Parks, knitting her brows as if some one had asked her to guess a conundrum. “Ah, yes, then that was your _mother’s_ fern china and her brand of tea that we all used to rave over! Mrs. Van Kleek was recalling it only an hour ago—by the way she’s out in the carriage (go tell her, Johnson, that Miss Lawton lives here and ask her to come in). But I do not yet quite understand.” “It is this way,” explained Brooke, with an admirable self-possession, in which diffidence and independence were equally blended. “We had the farm and a bit of money, but not quite enough to keep us; the life agrees with father, and may cure him. If Adam and I went away to earn more money, mother could not stay alone. Then I tried to think what I could do or sell here. People drive a great deal hereabouts; the hill country makes people hungry; therefore why not make and sell good tea and good sandwiches? And I think that you must have found them so,” she added archly, looking at the empty plate upon the tray that Johnson had left on the serving table in the screened porch. “Good! superlatively so! but why didn’t you write me of your plan and let me exploit it and interest our own set? for you know that they are scattered all over these parts at some time of the year, either for the entire season, or between times, and before and after Newport and Europe. I would have done it with a will, I assure you, as I shall now with a megaphone voice, in spite of you!” “I know that you would have, Mrs. Parks, and Lucy Dean wished to also; but what has happened, I think you must acknowledge, is best. I wanted people to find out for themselves, as you have done, and if they bought my wares, to do so because they are good and they need them, not because I sell them and desire their money. Otherwise the sun would very soon set on the Sign of the Fox, instead of apparently beginning to rise. You know that it is the way of the world! “But tell me; how did you come upon us? merely by chance? This must be a lucky ‘red letter day,’ for Lucy herself is coming to visit me to-night; Adam has already driven down to Gilead for her.” “Partly that, but chiefly because of the way the wind blew. You see we started for Stonebridge and circled about, not finding our mistake until we began to climb the hill below. By that time the horses were quite spent, and Benson would not turn back in the teeth of the river wind.” “It’s no use, mum,” said Johnson, returning, “Mrs. Van Kleek is sleepin’ that ’eavy and ’appy it would take a brass band to wake her, mum,” so the two women passed indoors, the fragrance of the lilies-of-the-valley lingering in the air.