were very quiet. However, we could not help feeling astonished and
aggrieved at what Mrs. Jameson had said about the insanity and
dyspepsia in our village, since we could scarcely remember one case
of insanity, and very few of us had to be in the least careful as
to what we ate. Mrs. Peter Jones did say in a whisper that if Mrs.
Jameson had had dyspepsia ten years on those hard biscuits it
was more than any of us had had on our cake and pie. We left the
biscuits, and the two paper packages which Mrs. Jameson had brought,
in a heap on the table just where she had put them.

After we had replaced the baskets we all scattered about, trying to
enjoy ourselves in the sweet pine woods, but it was hard work, we
were so much disturbed by what had happened. We wondered uneasily,
too, what Flora Clark would say about her jumbles. We were all quiet,
peaceful people who dreaded altercation; it made our hearts beat too
fast. Taking it altogether, we felt very much as if some great,
overgrown bird of another species had gotten into our village nest,
and we were in the midst of an awful commotion of strange wings and
beak. Still we agreed that Mrs. Jameson had probably meant well.

Grandma Cobb seemed to be enjoying herself. She was moving about, her
novel under her arm and her peppermint box in her hand, holding up
her gown daintily in front. She spoke to everybody affably, and told
a number confidentially that her daughter was very delicate about
her eating, but she herself believed in eating what you liked.
Harriet and Harry Liscom were still missing, and so were the younger
daughter, Sarah, and the boy. The boy's name, by the way, was Cobb,
his mother's maiden name. That seemed strange to us, but it possibly
would not have seemed so had it been a prettier name.