Marilla went off crestfallen and demurring.  She had a noble desire to show Mr. Laneway that they knew how to have things as well as anybody, and was sure that he would consider it more polite to be asked into the best room, and to sit there alone until tea was ready; but the illustrious Mr. Laneway was allowed to stay in the kitchen, in apparent happiness, and to watch the proceedings from beginning to end.  The two old friends talked industriously, but he saw his rye drop-cakes go into the oven and come out, and his tea made, and his piece of salt fish broiled and buttered, a broad piece of honeycomb set on to match some delightful thick slices of brown-crusted loaf bread, and all the simple feast prepared.  There was a sufficient piece of Abby Hender’s best cheese; it must be confessed that there were also some baked beans, and, as one thing after another appeared, the Honorable Joseph K. Laneway grew hungrier and hungrier, until he fairly looked pale with anticipation and delay, and was bidden at that very moment to draw up his chair and make himself a supper if he could.  What cups of tea, what uncounted rye drop-cakes, went to the making of that successful supper!  How gay the two old friends became, and of what old stories they reminded each other, and how late the dark spring evening grew, before the feast was over and the straight-backed chairs were set against the kitchen wall!

Marilla listened for a time with more or less interest, but at last she took one of her school-books, with slight ostentation, and went over to study by the lamp.  Mrs. Hender had brought her knitting-work, a blue woolen stocking, out of a drawer, and sat down serene and unruffled, prepared to keep awake as late as possible.  She was a woman who had kept her youthful looks through the difficulties of farm life as few women can, and this added to her guest’s sense of homelikeness and pleasure.  There was something that he felt to be sisterly and comfortable in her strong figure; he even noticed the little plaid woolen shawl that she wore about her shoulders.  Dear, uncomplaining heart of Abby Hender!  The appealing friendliness of the good woman made no demands except to be allowed to help and to serve everybody who came in her way.

Now began in good earnest the talk of old times, and what had become of this and that old schoolmate; how one family had come to want and another to wealth.  The changes and losses and windfalls of good fortune in that rural neighborhood were made tragedy and comedy by turns in Abby Hender’s dramatic speech.  She grew younger and more entertaining hour by hour, and beguiled the grave Senator into confidential talk of national affairs.  He had much to say, to which she listened with rare sympathy and intelligence.  She astonished him by her comprehension of difficult questions of the day, and by her simple good sense.  Marilla grew hopelessly sleepy, and departed, but neither of them turned to notice her as she lingered