“Well, it is true, my head does feel like a soggy batter-pudding,” Betsey owned, beginning to waver. “I had a jumping toothache all Friday night, and last night I never slept one wink.”
“Besides,” continued Boadicea, growing heroic, “when the two eldest of my offspring are in the jaws of destruction, my place is beside them.”
It was impossible to resist such an argument, and she was permitted to have her way.
“I was going to leave the door unlocked, so that the men could come in and get their luncheon,” Betsey said. “But as you are here, perhaps you will carry it out to them.”
A dignified bow was the only reply. Mrs. Patten considered so trivial a subject as luncheon irrelevant to these thrilling circumstances. The question in her mind at this moment was what weapon she should use in the event of an attack. Her taste was for the mediæval, and she would have welcomed with enthusiasm the sight of a battle-axe or a halberd; but since these were not to be had, she inclined toward a long iron shovel that stood in the chimney-corner, reaching nearly to the mantelpiece. This would give a telling blow, and would, moreover, allow of a fine swing of the arms in its wielding.
“Now, here are two coffee-pots full,” Betsey said. “This is done, I think, and will do to begin with. You might put water to the other so as to have it ready about twelve o’clock. I believe in having something to eat and drink, no matter what happens. About all that keeps me from joining the Catholic Church is their fasting. I couldn’t praise God on an empty stomach; I should be all the time thinking how hungry I was. If it warn’t for that, I do believe, the folks here act so like the old boy, I’d turn Catholic just for spite, if nothing else. Give ’em as many of them pumpkin-pies as they want to eat. Give ’em all there is in the closet, if they want it.”
Sally listened, superior, and merely bowed in reply.
Betsey set out a private lunch, and poured a cup of coffee. “Now, you take this, Mrs. Patten,” she said, “and make yourself as comfortable as you can. It will help you to keep awake.”
Boadicea hesitated, then, with a smile of lofty disdain, swallowed the coffee. Why should she attempt the vain task of making that unheroic soul comprehend the emotions which agitated her own spirit? Pumpkin pies and coffee help to keep her awake! Well, she swallowed them, but merely to escape the multiplying of trivial and inconsequent words.