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“Yes. What’ll we have for dinner? I ain’t goin’ to cut this cake for her. I want this for Sund’y.”

“Why, we’ve got corn beef to boil, an’ a head o’ cabbage; an’ these here beans; an’, of course, potatoes; an’ watermelon perserves. An’ you can make a custerd pie. I guess that’s a good enough dinner for her. There! She’s knockin’. Open the door, can’t you? Well, if I ever! Look at that grease-spot on the floor!”

“Well, I didn’t spill it.”

“Who did, then, missy?”

“Well, I never.”

Isaphene went to the front door, returning presently with a tall, thin lady.

“Here’s Mis’ Hanna, maw,” she said, with the air of having made a pleasant discovery. Mrs. Bridges got up, greatly surprised, and shook hands with her visitor with exaggerated delight.

“Well, I’ll declare! It’s really you, is it? At last! Well, set right down an’ take off your things. Isaphene, take Mis’ Hanna’s things. My! ain’t it warm, walkin’?”

“It is so.” The visitor gave her bonnet to Isaphene, dropping her black mitts into it after rolling them carefully together. “But it’s always nice an’ cool in your kitchen.” Her eyes wandered about with a look of unabashed curiosity that took in everything. “I brought my crochet with me.”