[Noinkling]

Tolly tied his napkin round his neck, in an effort to keep the new green vest made by his wife clean. Blossom . . . Her sweet face with its dimpled smile floated into his attention followed closely on by that of his little pudgy-faced son and his one-toothed grin. “Home soon,” he thought to himself. “Just a day or two to see to my business here. Then Benny and I will fly home.” The thought of his sturdy, well-fed little pony ‘flying’ made him chuckle. Top pace for the stubborn beast was the quickened trot from path to stable when the promise of a warm stall and a nosebag of oats was the end prize.

The stew was delivered, and set carefully before him. Tolly smiled up at the serving lass, nodding appreciatively to her as he picked up his spoon. He tucked into the rich concoction of chicken, vegetable, and fat chunks of tater all in a savory broth. Mouthfuls of stew alternated with chunks of bread, spread thick with butter and jam.

Another lass came round with a pitcher of cold cider, and Tolly, his mouth full, signaled for a refill. She had just finished topping off his mug, when he’d managed to swallow his rather large bite. “My compliments to the Cook, if you will, lass,’ he said beaming at her. “Good fare, it is!” He leaned closer to the lass as if sharing a confidence. “And just as tasty as any my old Mam served in her day!”