"I don't think I wanna try a rat, thank ya," was his assessment.

Arabella thought about it and wrinked her nose. Come to think of it, she didn’t neither.

Clara now added her two cents, "Sounds like a story to me. French cooking is famous in Europe. Doubt they cook up vermin unless it would be a dire emergency like a siege."

“Why, if they serve up rats, no wonder their cookin’s famous!” countered Arabella.

Now Wyatt did a little whispering, "My sister likes the French cuz they had this girl called Joan of Arc. She's Clara's favorite history person. She won a really long war and wore a suit of armor."

The boy paused as if to think on his last part then amended, "Joan... not Clara."

This made the Southern girl laugh. “He he – you’re a card Wyatt, and should be dealt with!” she assured him. She’d heard someone say that once and now said it herself whenever someone cracked a joke. But, of course, winning wars and wearing armor, although a big plus in her book, wasn’t the best part.

“Yeah, that’s all true, Wy, but do you know how that there Jonah Vark died?" she leaned even further over the table toward him, the better to impart the lurid tale. "See, them old timey knights, well they tortured her for a little bit, to make her confess as she was a witch, and then they tied her up to a big flagpole on top of a bonfire, and then they got out their matches and set fire to it! And she frazzled and frizzled a good long time, and then them knights heard…” she put her little finger in her mouth and pulled it out rapidly so it made a ‘Pop!’ sound, then she did it again. “… and that was the sound of her two eyes poppin’ in her head, just like two cooked eggs!”

Now Aurelian moved up to the table and using a spatula plopped two sizzling eggs onto the plate in front of Arabella then two more for Wyatt, "Eat up while they're hot. We got salt and pepper too if you want it, child."

“Oh Thank You, Mr. Redmond, they look just deee-licious, done to a turn - just like Jonah Vark!” she complimented him as politely as humanly possible and was just about to grab the salt and pepper, when she remembered.

“Ooh! What about sayin’ grace, Mr. Redmond?!” she asked with some enthusiasm, closing her eyes so tight that her nose wrinkled up and pressing her palms together hard in front of her, like she was trying to crack a walnut between them.

“He he – you’re a card Wyatt, and should be dealt with!” she assured him.

Wyatt got the pun and gave her a hearty laugh, "Good one!" She was a lot funnier than Clara.

Then the girl launched into the details of how Clara's favorite person in history actually died. It was really gory too. Frying to death tied to a pole? And her eyeballs popped? Now being a typical boy of that age, the imagery was all very .....well, exciting more so than horrific. Of course it was all in the imagination, if the lad were to actually witness such a sight for real, he'd probably be sick to his stomach.

"Well, at least she got a reward for that," he pointed out then seeing her look of confusion, explained, "She got sainthood. They must have felt bad about it and so they made her a saint."

Aurelian now plated the eggs onto the children's dishes and urged them to eat up. The girl had manners, she thanked him but then brought up something which had slipped his mind completely with the unusual situation they found themselves in this fine morning.

“Ooh! What about sayin’ grace, Mr. Redmond?!”

The man blinked then glanced for just an instant to Clara whose look showed him even she had forgotten that normally traditional ritual. Well, easily remedied. He smiled down upon the devout little thing.

"Oh, yes, of course! We never miss a meal without saying grace. Things just got a little hectic is all this morning but we can pause for a moment and thank the Lord for our blessings," he declared.

Then it hit him, he decided in an instant, "Arabella, why don't you lead us in prayer then? Don't be shy."

Clara made a huffing sound. This child could be called many things but SHY was definitely NOT one of them!

"Well, at least she got a reward for that," he pointed out then seeing her look of confusion, explained, "She got sainthood. They must have felt bad about it and so they made her a saint."

She saw what he was getting at now, but felt the need to put him straight on a couple of theological points. “Aw, that’s cuz them Frenchies is all Cathlicks. You ain’t Cathlick are you?” she checked before continuing on “Now Cathlicks, they can only become saints by getting’ horribly killed to death by being hung upside down and dipped in boiling oil or crushed between two giant boulders or … well, I’ll tell you the whole list when breakfast ain’t pressin’… oh, but less I forget: one feller got griddled to death on a giant skillet, he’s my favourite.”

So much for Joan of Arc and Catholic Saints.

“But proper Christians like you and me Wyatt, we can become Saints just like that” she snapped her fingers “All we have to do is just act like Jesus every day, even if you don’t like it, just act like him best you can when you get a notion to, and you become a Saint, abracadabra! And it ain’t hard: I do it six or seven times a day!” she informed him, simply, but quite effectively, describing the Wesleyan theological doctrine of sanctification.

Aurelian now plated the eggs onto the children's dishes and urged them to eat up. The girl had manners, she thanked him but then brought up something which had slipped his mind completely with the unusual situation they found themselves in this fine morning.

“Ooh! What about sayin’ grace, Mr. Redmond?!”

The man blinked then glanced for just an instant to Clara whose look showed him even she had forgotten that normally traditional ritual. Well, easily remedied. He smiled down upon the devout little thing.

"Oh, yes, of course! We never miss a meal without saying grace. Things just got a little hectic is all this morning but we can pause for a moment and thank the Lord for our blessings," he declared.

Jesus used to pray, one day he even invented a prayer himself, so Arabella always counted saying grace before and after meals in her tally of saintly Jesus-like actions. The whole thing usually counted as one per meal, but if she was pushed for numbers, she would double up and three meals would count as six actions, which hit her targets nicely.

Then it hit him, he decided in an instant, "Arabella, why don't you lead us in prayer then? Don't be shy."

A smile of religious beatification lit up the girl’s face and she gave a pleased “Oh, thank you Mr. Redmond, that would be a signal honor, to say grace in your beautiful home.”

She closed her eyes, held her hands together and began. If Clara was expecting the sort of rambling, lurid dissertation that made up most of the girl’s one-sided communications with her, then she would be disappointed (or whatever the opposite of disappointed was – appointed?) Instead, she came out with a short, obviously formulaic but heartfelt rendition of the traditional Methodist pre-meal prayer.

Be present at our table Lord. Be here and everywhere adored. These mercies bless and grant that we may feast in fellowship with Thee. Amen.

She actually did look a little shy when she opened her eyes, and she gave a little shrug and a small simpering smile to Aurelian “I hope that was all right, Mr. Redmond.” she inquired meekly.

The Redmonds all assumed the prayerful position with their folded hands and eyes went down to the table, though Wyatt was never really sure what that was all about. And Arabella started in, Clara braced herself for a long spell ahead. But it did not happen! The prayer was short, to the point, and well stated.

"Amen! That was nice n' short so we can eat," Wyatt dug into his eggs.

“I hope that was all right, Mr. Redmond.” Arabella inquired meekly.

"Sounded fine, child," he nodded.

Aurelian went back to making some eggs now for himself and Clara. Clara wanted to put the biscuits on the table but did have to pause to address the girl.

"That was a nice prayer, Arabella. I liked it and I liked how you stated it, " that was big praise coming from her too. Inwardly Clara thought, yes probably a fluke.

“I hope that was all right, Mr. Redmond.” Arabella inquired meekly.

"Sounded fine, child," he nodded.

This verdict delivered, Arabella tucked into the eggs. She didn’t actually feel that hungry, in fact more the opposite, but she would have eaten them anyway to be polite. After the first mouthful, however, she realised that she was starving and it was a struggle not to just stuff the things into her mouth in one go.

“Mmmm, these are wonderful.” She cooed. “My compliments to the chef.”

"That was a nice prayer, Arabella. I liked it and I liked how you stated it, " that was big praise coming from her too. Inwardly Clara thought, yes probably a fluke.

“Oh, that’s just the one we always say, in the connexion.” Arabella replied. She gathered from Clara’s unfamiliarity with the prayer that the Redmonds weren’t Methodists, so they must belong to the Presbyterians, or Baptists, or some other strange cult. Well, they were good Christian folk to offer her food and a roof over her head, and to nurse her through illness, and that was what really mattered; just like in the parable of the Good Samaritan. “Wait ‘till you hear the one we say after breakfast!” she added, and then chomped away quite quietly and happily for a while.

“May I ask a question, Mr. Redmond” she asked, once the eggs were done. “Could you tell me what date of the calendar it is today. I reckon I should work out how long it is since my Pappy died, so I can get started on my year o’ mourning.” When her Mammy had died, and her little brother, they had dressed her in white, an acceptable alternative to black for girls according to the strict funerary rules of the time, so she reckoned that she was all fixed up in Wyatt’s nightgown, which was white...ish. She’d maybe just try and rustle up a black armband of crepe, if she could.

Hearing her compliment, Aurelian smiled, "That would be me. You're welcome."

Clara threw a compliment Arabella's way.

“Oh, that’s just the one we always say, in the connexion," replied the younger girl.

That was a new one to Clara and she prided herself on her vocabulary. Later she would have to consult the dictionary. As to the girl's remark about post meal prayer, Clara headed her off at the pass on that one, "Well, we do not say a prayer then. You will have to pray it silently. God will hear you."

Though Clara wondered if even the Almighty was tired of having to listen to Arabella.

Once breakfast was finishing up, Clara put another large pot of water onto the stove to warm up the bath water for Wyatt. Meanwhile their guest had a question. Aurelian nodded to hear it.

“Could you tell me what date of the calendar it is today. I reckon I should work out how long it is since my Pappy died, so I can get started on my year o’ mourning.”

"Well, it is December 19th, close to Christmas. Did your family do it that way back home, mourn for a full year?" he asked his own question of her.

Clara had mourned their mother of course, though for almost an entire month she had been in bed from her wound. But a full year? They just didn't have the time to do that. Her father stated that she would not have wanted that anyhow, she would have wanted them to get on with living their lives as normally as possible. Clara agreed.

That was a new one to Clara and she prided herself on her vocabulary. Later she would have to consult the dictionary. As to the girl's remark about post meal prayer, Clara headed her off at the pass on that one, "Well, we do not say a prayer then. You will have to pray it silently. God will hear you."

“No prayer after a meal?” queried Arabella incredulously. She really had fallen in with heathens, here! “Why that’s like having a story with a beginning and a middle, but no end part. All right, I’ll say it right quiet, so only me and God and Jesus and the Holy Ghost can hear it.”

She then asked Aurelian the date.

"Well, it is December 19th, close to Christmas.”

Arabella nodded and frowned, but very quickly brightened. “Oh, that’s an easy sum, Pappy shuffled off this mortal coil on the first day of December, that’s only a couple of weeks. Oh, I might as well start counting it off now. So a year today, 19th December 1876, I can stop mourning.”

“Did your family do it that way back home, mourn for a full year?" he asked his own question of her.

“Oh now, Mr. Redmond, now you’re askin’!” That question had been a mistake. “See, it depends on who’s shuffled off their mortal coils. Now, widows have to mourn their husbands for two years, ‘cept for the Queen of England, she’s done nearly fifteen years of mourin’ fer her husband and that old gal’s still going strong. Girls and boys got to do a year for their Mammy or Pappy, and vicey versy. Granny or Granddaddy, you get six months, same fer brothers or sisters. Aunts and uncles comes in at two months, great uncles and aunt six you cop fer six weeks, that’s weeks not months, and for cousins it’s only four weeks, hardly worth bothering’ with at all, really. Unless you like’em!” How could these people not know these things? She wondered.

“Course, when two people die at round the same time, that’s all what’s called a ‘concurrent sentence’. Now, let’s say your granddaddy fell through a trapdoor and was killt, but he fell on top of your first cousin Belinda and killt her while he was at it: why, you would’t have to do six months and then four extra weeks, no! you can do ‘em both at the same time, so it’s just six months, see. That’s what happened to my Granddaddy Hubert, he fell through a trapdoor and was killt.” She informed them.

Well, the girl certainly seemed to take the death of her father rather well, given how recently he had passed. But Aurelian was not about to judge. He had not gotten along with his father at all and had not even attended the funeral.

"I'm sorry about your father, Arabella," he stated sincerely, an orphan now, it wasn't going to be easy for her.

Having made the mistake of asking, he was then 'treated' to an inordinately long and confusing explanation of mourning rules down south or at least by her family traditions. It was way too much to take in let alone remember details.

"Ah, thank you for that summation," he said with just a touch of good natured sarcasm.

Clara now gave her little brother directions, "Wyatt, go into my room and get ready for your bath. The water is almost ready. "

"Awww, shouldn't I wait until I'm dirty after the day 's over?" he was less than enthusiastic.

"No, I am not keeping that tub filled for the entire day. Now go, " Clara would not be dissuaded.

"Ah, thank you for that summation," he said with just a touch of good natured sarcasm.

Summation! That was a good word. Arabella took a note of it in her head and was determined to use it as soon as humanly possible. It was a right Utilitarian word, that one. She liked staying with these Yankees with their strange new vocabulary.

“Why, you’re welcome, Mr. Redmond!” she smiled genuinely. Clara was lucky to have a father, she reckoned, who was as nice as her own had been, but who seemed a little less inclined to living in a world of fancy to the neglect of practical affairs. Seeing as he was so grateful for the list of rules she’d given him, she decided to open up the offer further.

“Now, you just ask me if you need to know about any other points of etiquette.” She advised him strongly. “See, my Mammy onest had this book, and this book it was called ‘The ladies' book of etiquette, and manual of politeness by Miss Florence Hartley, Author of ‘The "ladies' handbook of fancy and ornamental work.’ ‘cept we didn’t have that one. Anyway, this Miss Florence Hartley, she is just the biggest expert in the whole wide world about politeness, and I read that there book again and again so I knew it backwards, but then we borrowed it to someone and they never brought it back, which if they’d read the book, they’d a realized that they shoulda done.”

Clara now gave her little brother directions, "Wyatt, go into my room and get ready for your bath. The water is almost ready. "

"Awww, shouldn't I wait until I'm dirty after the day 's over?" he was less than enthusiastic.

"No, I am not keeping that tub filled for the entire day. Now go, " Clara would not be dissuaded.

“Oh please!” Arabella spoke up “Can I help with any little thing? Maybe I could wash the dishes or milk a cow or something?” she offered.

Clara hoped her father learned a good lesson in engaging their guest in conversation, it turned out to be more just listening to Arabella do all the conversing. Now she inflicted her views on etiquette in a steady stream of blather including book titles and asides about lending out copies and on and on it went.

Aurelian listened, sort of, he finished off his coffee, nodded a few times in fake comprehension then left the table, "Thank you Arabella, got some work to do now."

Clara gave Wyatt his marching orders - straight to the bath tub with him. The boy reluctantly gave in because he never won any contests of wills with his sister.

"Oh please!” Arabella spoke up “Can I help with any little thing? Maybe I could wash the dishes or milk a cow or something?”

"Why yes, you certainly could be of some use. Thank you for volunteering," Clara was clearly pleased.

"You can wash the dishes then. Frees me up to start on the laundry then," she then grunted as she took the heated pot of water to dump into the bathtub.