They halted shyly. Una wished they had not been so precipitate: but Di Blythe was equal to that and any occasion. She stepped forward, with a comrade’s smile.
“I guess I know who you are,” she said. “You belong to the manse, don’t you?”
Faith nodded, her face creased by dimples.
“We smelled your trout cooking and wondered what it was.”
“You must sit down and help us eat them,” said Di.
“Maybe you haven’t more than you want yourselves,” said Jerry, looking hungrily at the tin platter.