they had all assembled, then the young woman said: "Please
come in and have a cup of tea," and turning on her heel led the way to
the dining-room.

"Joanna," said little Ellen in a loud whisper, "may I take off my hat?"

"No, that you mayn't."

"But the elastic's so tight--it's cutting my chin. Why mayn't I?"

"You can't till the funeral's over."

"It is over. They've put father in the ground."

"It isn't over till we've had tea, and you keep your hat on till it's
over."

For answer Ellen tore off her pork-pie hat and threw it on the floor.
Immediately Joanna had boxed her unprotected ears, and the head of the
procession was involved in an ignominious scuffle. "You pick up that hat
and put it on," said Joanna, "or you shan't have any nice tea." "You're
a beast! You're a brute," cried Ellen, weeping loudly. Behind them stood
two rows of respectable marsh-dwellers, gazing solemnly ahead as if the
funeral service were still in progress. In their hearts they were
thinking that it was just like Joanna Godden to have a terrification
like this when folk were expected to be serious. In the end Joanna
picked up Ellen's hat, crammed it down ruthlessly on her head, hind part
before, and heaving her up under her arm carried her into the
dining-room. The rest of the company followed, and were ushered into
their places to the accompaniment of Ellen's shrieks, which they
pretended not to hear.

"Mr. Pratt, will you take the end of the table?" said Joanna to the
scared little clergyman, who would almost have preferred to sit under it
rather than receive the honour which Miss Godden's respect for his cloth
dictated. "Mr. Huxtable, will you sit by me?" Having thus settled her
aristocracy she turned to her equals and allotted places to Vine of
Birdskitchen, Furnese of Misleham, Southland of Yokes Court, and their
wives. "Arthur Alce, you take my left," and a tall young man with red
hair, red whiskers, and a face covered with freckles and tan, came
sidling to her elbow.

In front of Joanna a servant-girl had just set down a huge black teapot,
which had been stewing on the hob ever since the funeral party had been
sighted crossing the railway line half a mile off. Round it were two
concentric rings of teacups--good old Worcester china, except for a
common three which had been added for number's sake, and which Joanna
carefully bestowed upon herself, Ellen, and Arthur Alce. Ellen had
stopped crying at the sight of the cakes and j