Then in the kitchen I
loaded a big basket with provisions for an emergency: a dozen
eggs, a jar of sliced bacon, butter, cheese, condensed milk,
tea, biscuits, jam, and two loaves of bread. These Mr. Mifflin
stowed inside the van, Mrs. McNally watching in amazement.
"I tank this bane a queer picnic!" she said. "Which way are
you going? Mr. McGill, is he coming after you?"
"No," I insisted, "he's not coming. I'm going off on a
holiday. You get dinner for him and he won't worry about
anything until after that. Tell him I've gone over to see
Mrs. Collins."
I climbed the little steps and entered my Parnassus with a
pleasant thrill of ownership. The terrier on the bunk jumped
to the floor with a friendly wag of the tail. I piled the
bunk with bedding and blankets of my own, shook out the
drawers which fitted above the bunk, and put into them what
few belongings I was taking with me. And we were ready to start.
Redbeard was already sitting in front with the reins in hand.
I climbed up beside him. The front seat was broad but
uncushioned, well sheltered by the peak of the van. I gave a
quick glance around at the comfortable house under its elms
and maples--saw the big, red barn shining in the sun and the
pump under the grape arbour.
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