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A Late Supper
by
“I guess she is,” said her nephew, who was a great favorite. “I tell you she’s the salt of the earth.” And he gave her a most affectionate and resounding great kiss, and then they were all merrier than ever.
“What are you sitting down for, without laying off your bonnets?” asked the hostess. “You must stay and get supper before you ride home. I’ll have it early, and there’s a moon. You take the horse right round into the yard, Joseph: there’s some more of that old hay in the barn; you know where to find it.” And, after some persuasion, the visitors yielded, and settled themselves quietly for the rest of the afternoon. They had said, as they came over, that they were sure Aunt Catherine would ask them to stay until evening, and she always had such good suppers. Miss Stanby had never been at the house before, and only once as far as Brookton; and she seemed very pleased. She took care of her step-mother, who was very old, and a great deal crosser than there was any need of being. This little excursion would do her a world of good; and luckily her married sister happened to be at home for a day or two’s visit, so she did not feel anxious about being away. She was a sharp-faced, harassed-looking little woman, who might have been pretty if she had been richer and less worried and disappointed. She was a pleasant and patient soul, and this drive and visit were more to her than a journey to Boston would be to her companions. They were well-to-do village people, comfortable and happy and unenvious as it is possible for village people, or any other people, to be.
Miss Spring was a little distracted and a bit formal for a few minutes, while she was thinking what she could get for tea; but that being settled, she gave her whole mind to enjoying the guests. She regretted the absence of the two pound-cakes Katy Dunning had eaten, but it was only for an instant. She could make out with new gingerbread, and no matter if she couldn’t! It was all very pleasant and sociable: and they talked together for a while busily, telling the news and asking and answering questions; and, by and by, Joseph took his hat, saying that he must go down to the post-office to see Mr. Rand, the storekeeper. Soon after this it was time to get supper. Just as Miss Spring was going out, her niece said, “I had a letter from Lowell yesterday, from Mary.”
“How is she now?” Miss Spring meant to talk over her plans a little with Joseph after supper, but was silent enough about them now.
“Her husband’s oldest sister is coming to stay all summer with them. She is a widow, and has been living out West. It’ll be a great help to Mary, and John sets every thing by this sister. She is a good deal older than he, and brought him up.”
“It is a good thing,” said Miss Catherine emphatically, and with perfect composure. “I have been thinking about Mary lately. I pitied her so when I was there. I have had half a mind to go and stay with her a while myself.”
“You might have got sick going to Lowell in hot weather. Sha’n’t I come out and help you, Aunt Catherine?” who said, “No indeed;” and went out to the kitchen, and dropped into a chair. “Oh, what am I going to do?” said she; for she never had felt so helpless and hopeless in her life.
The old clock gave its quick little cluck, by way of reminder that in five minutes it would be five o’clock. She had promised to have tea early; so she opened a drawer to take out a big calico apron, and went to work. Her eyes were full of tears. Poor woman! she felt as if she had come face to face with a great wall, but she bravely went to work to make the cream-tartar biscuit. Somehow she couldn’t remember how much to take of any thing. She was quite confused when she tried to remember the familiar rule. It was silly!–she had made them hundreds of times, and was celebrated for her skill. Cream-tartar biscuit, and some cold bread, and some preserved plums; or was it citron-melon she meant to have?–and some of that cold meat she had for dinner, for a relish, with a bit of cheese.